At First Glance
by Anonymous-read
Summary: Just a bunch of unconnected one-shots about how the Lorien Legacies characters might have met if they lived normal lives. Mainly AUs. Disclaimer: I do not own Lorien Legacies
1. Six

**Hey guys!**

 **Probably surprising that I'm uploading a new story when I can't even keep up with my other one, but I've been working on this one-shot between writing for my main story for a while now, and I figured you all deserve to read something after waiting so long for updates on my other one.**

 **I will keep uploading this story with different one-shots, and they will not be connected. Don't expect a great updating schedule though. Everything I write for this story will be a result of writing around the other one.**

 **Anyway, a not-so-little Jix meeting one-shot for you guys. Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

Another coke was placed in front of him, a small square napkin laid beneath it for what John could only take to be presentation value. He held the straw out of the way as he took a sip. He had cringed a little the first few times the carbonated drink washed down his throat, but he didn't now, hardly even tasting it on his tongue as he tried to hear his thoughts over the pounding music. It wasn't even alcohol he was drinking, but he found himself forgetting how many drinks he'd already had.

 _Alcohol_ , he thought as he felt each bass beat hammer into his skull, _might do wonders for my headache_. He didn't order one, preferring sobriety over have having to take a cab home later. It was also imaginable that Stanley would not be happy if he found out his designated driver was not-so legal. He turned around in his seat and took another drink of his coke.

It wasn't curiosity that propelled him to peer through the assault of lights to the dance floor, but more so that watching the barkeep doing his job wasn't exactly an entertaining activity. Watching the mass of young adults bounce around to the same beat eventually proved to be equally as uneventful. And then he was stuck in a cycle of boredom. Well, that was until he saw her.

 _Her_ was mess of raven hair falling out of ponytail, a pair of jeans and converse sneakers and a large t-shirt. Her appearance certainly was not one of a girl looking for a night on the town, that was for sure. He assumed she had a different goal when she first entered. Maybe she would have a couple drinks and leave, chase any of her problems to the bottom of a glass. Judging by the way her unbalanced legs took her around the dance floor, he was willing to bet that she may have gone a bit farther than anticipated.

John found his eyes fixed to her, and not just because she was beautiful -even though she most certainly was- but more because her face didn't bear the sloppy grins of everyone else on the dance floor. Her sluggish dance moves were the same as the people around her, but her face held a slack composure as bounced around. It was such a contrast that John started to wonder if she was just pretending to be drunk. But then a pair of thick hands grabbed her waist and she turned around, a cliche drunken grin making an appearance as she looped her arms around a man's neck. John's eyebrows furrowed at the guy's greedy smile, and he forgot about the glass in his hand.

John's feet moved on their own, touching the ground and lifting his body from the stool. He hadn't been standing for a while and the new pressure was a welcome comfort. He didn't know why he felt protective over this girl. Hell, the man could be her boyfriend. If that was the case the behaviour would be completely normal. But John didn't want the hands groping this woman's body to be unwanted by her, so he found himself watching. He shook his head. _You're like a stalker_ , he chided himself, feeling foolish. But then the man leaned his head in, and like a cliffhanger ending, a crowd walked in front of the couple, and they were no longer visible.

John put his drink down so quickly even he was alarmed, starting to walk forward. Sweat and alcohol filled his nose as he excused himself through the crowd, trying not to touch anyone at first, but then resorting to pushing his way through. He broke through the mass of people and found the couple connected in a drunken kiss, her hands on his chest. John felt like an idiot. Of course they were together, it only makes sense. But if they were together, her hands would not be _pushing_ at his chest, and that grin wouldn't be replaced by scowl.

"Hey!" John shouted, trying to be heard over the crowd, but it was no use. He pushed through the last few people and yanked the man's shoulder when he got near.

"You want to mind your own business?" The man questioned. John noticed his clear eyes. This was not a hazy-minded kiss for him. This man knew exactly what he was doing.

"She's drunk." John stated, yelling to be heard rather then in anger. But he was definitely feeling the latter. "You can't take advantage of her like that."

The man threw a punch, and John leaned back, his hands up. Maybe the man was a _little_ drunk. But he still knew that going that far with someone who was drunk was not unwarranted of an ass-kicking.

But as John's clear eyes took in the bulk of a man in front of him, he started to think he may not be the man for the job. This man was taller than the blond, and his drunken rage was surely an advantage over the -relatively- peaceful composure his sober opponent was holding. But he felt he needed to do something. His moral compass and sense of justice compelled him to do something, out of respect for this woman he didn't even know. John looked the man up and down. Yeah, he could take him.

A low whistle came from behind him. "Well, would you look who's causing trouble."

The six foot four figure was definitely a better match for this fight, and John was suddenly glad his friend maintained a certain level of consciousness.

"Look, Johnny, I'm not complaining. I just thought you'd have the decency to save me a spot in your bar fights. Honestly, I'm hurt buddy." Stanley grinned at John's side, looking down at the man with a deceivingly warm expression. The guy bolted.

It annoyed John a little that while Stanley was only a couple inches taller than him, he could scare off guys even bigger than both of them. But his irritation quickly turned to concern as he remembered the woman he was seemingly so invested in a minute ago.

"Aw, it was just about to get good." Stanley complained as he watched the man retreat into the crowd. He made no move to go after him though, leading John to conclude that his level of intoxication is higher than he thought. "I would have totally knocked him out though. Did you see-"

"Shut up." John span in a circle, looking for the raven hair that first caught his attention somehow in the dark club.

"Yeah, no problem. Just saved your ass but whatever." Stanley threw up his hands in a clumsy display of offence. "We should go, this place sucks. Have you had a drink? They're watered down to shit."

"Designated driver, Stanley." John reminded him distractedly, finding no results in his search.

"Looking for something?" His friend's bleary eyes glazed over the crowd without knowing what he should be looking for.

Blue eyes blinked against the flashing lights as they scanned the room a final time. Nobody showed up in his search and John's lip pressed together in disappointment. He shook his head.

"No, you're right. Let's get out of here."

John followed Stanley out since he didn't want to loose him in the crowd and have to change plans. The night was cool and bright compared to the inside of the club. There was hardly anybody around. It was still early after all, and nobody liked to leave a party early on a Friday. Well, other then him apparently.

Him and -he noticed- another figure stumbling up the sidewalk, certainly too drunk to have the bright idea to call a cab. But he recognized the shirt and the jeans and what had to be the only ponytail that had been in the entire club.

"Stanley can you just wait here a second? I've got to uh..." John pointed to the woman and trailed off, not feeling like he needed to engage in further explanation. Stanley raised an eyebrow but John began to jog down the sidewalk before he could hear any of his friend's assumptions.

"Hey!" John made sure he was well away from the woman when he called, not wanting to startle her. She didn't even look, continuing her stumbling journey down the city sidewalk with no interruption aside from stopping to reorient herself a couple of times. If there was any question about John letting her go on by herself, this was the end of it. He certainly couldn't have her walking wherever she was going alone in the state she was in.

After a couple more tries of getting her attention verbally, John resorted to stepping in front of the woman to stop her unsteady progress. It still took a hand on her shoulder to steady her before she looked up at the concerned man in front of her, broadcasting a lazy smirk that complimented her glazed, unfocused eyes.

"What's your name?" He cut straight to the chase, asking the question slowly. He had two party animals for friends. He thought he was pretty okay at talking to drunk people.

She opened her mouth to answer but suddenly lurched to the side. Apparently choosing between speech and balance was becoming an issue. She was so far gone that she didn't even giggle when John's hand caught her other shoulder, steadying her once again. Her state seemed to have escalated quickly after leaving the club, like the music was somehow keeping her going.

"Where do you live? I can take you home." He tried to force her to look at him, but her gaze seemed to slide through him, her personal reverie not to be broken. He nodded as the decision on what to do was affirmed in his mind. "Alright, come on."

He helped the girl to where he left his friend, who's smirk and arched brow caused John to hold up his free hand. "Don't say a word." He warned.

Stanley didn't, surprisingly. He only grinned at John in what seemed to be pride. _Pride at what?_ John thought as they worked on getting to his car, which he remembered was parked by the curb further down the street. He couldn't think of anything to do with pride now, because sometime in the last ten minutes, he had decided that if he couldn't get this girl's address, she would be coming home with him. Some people would respect it, but some people would call it kidnaping. The intoxicated woman beside him surely didn't mind any decisions he would make, but he feared she might have different opinions when she's sober and waking up in someone else's bed.

Worry gnawed at him until he got to the car, the weight of almost carrying the girl on his side reminding him how relieved he was that Stanley was conscious enough to get around his own, despite a fair bit of stumbling. After getting the apparent Jane Doe in the backseat and properly buckled up, he got in the drivers seat and did his best to ignore a grinning friend beside him.

"Never took you for that kind of man, Johnny." Stanley said.

"I'm taking her to her house." John corrected, pulling out of the parallel parking space.

"So you know where she lives?"

"No."

Stanley stared at him blankly, and it wasn't really much of a difference from his sober self. John ignored the look and Stanley got distracted by the recliner lever on the seat, pulling it up and roughly sending the back of the seat to its extent.

"Whipped, man." He muttered to seemingly nobody since John opted not to reply. He didn't even know what that sentence had to do with the circumstance at all, but judging by the arm over his friend's eyes and lack of cocky expressions on his face, Stanley wasn't in the state to be explaining anything.

Every once in a while John would look into the backseat as he drove, as if reminding himself that he did indeed put a stranger into the back of his car without their knowing consent. She still hasn't spoken, or barely given any clue to her level of responsiveness other than a semi-functional walking job. John didn't feel good about any of this at all, but he didn't see another option. He knew he'd feel worse about the situation if he just left her on her own, so at least he had that.

Stanley had to be woken up before making the stumbling trek to the door of his house, but John didn't leave right away. He turned around in his seat, pressing his lips together at the sight. Apparently sitting up proved to be a strenuous activity for the nameless girl because she had taken to lying down across the seats. The seatbelt looked like it was stretching uncomfortably over stomach, and the buckle must have been digging into her side, but she didn't seem to mind. John watched her for a moment, debating waking her up.

"Hey." He said anyway, something in the back of his mind telling him that she'd have to wake up eventually. Unsurprisingly, the murmured word wasn't enough to register through any drunken haze. He doubted any words would.

Her arm was hanging down from the seat and John felt a twinge of guilt as he reached back and lightly shook her wrist. He didn't like the idea of touching her in anyway whatsoever without her conscious knowledge. But he also didn't want her conscious knowledge to wake up on the side of the road, so he shook her arm a little harder until her eyebrows furrowed and she moved her arm slightly.

"I want to take you home. Can you tell me where you live?" John said clearly, seeking her eyes, which were still not open. He feared the sentence may be a tad too complicated for her at the moment, so he reverted to his earlier question. "What's your name?"

Her eyes opened, and it might have just been the darkness in the backseat, but he had never seen eyes so grey; captivating. "Six..."

Her voice was raspy, mumbled and quiet all at the same time, and at first he thought he didn't hear her right. Even when it registered, he didn't want to question it. An answer, as unreliable as it may be, was progress.

"What's your address?" He felt that creepiness radiated from the question and he was thankful that she was too drunk to notice, and most likely too drunk to remember.

The woman -who may or may not be named after a number- stared at him blankly, eyes half closed and lips parted. He silently urged her to continue, but after an incoherent mumble, whatever force propelled her to answer the first question must have given up.

"No, don't go back to sleep." John coaxed when he saw her eyes shut. He shook her wrist again. "Come on." No response. "Hey, uh... Six...?" He cringed as he said it because he was almost certain it wasn't her real name, and he was randomly saying a number in the form of a question.

He turned around again and let out a breath as he pressed the heels of his hands into the steering wheel. The logical part of him said that he couldn't bring her to his apartment, because as much as he could try to argue it in respect to the circumstances, kidnaping is a thing.

A wallet poked out of the back pocket of her jeans. He might look inside for an ID if it was in a different location, but that plan was out of the question. He could bring her to a hotel somewhere. But then she'd wake up disoriented and with weird imaginations of where the night took her, and John didn't want that. He could try and search her up on Facebook, but he didn't have anywhere to start his search aside from a not-so-believable first name. What would he even get if he found her on Facebook anyway? Certainly not an address.

Sighing, he pulled the gear shift to drive. Taking her home with him was a bad idea anyway. He knew the charges he could be brought up on, and it wasn't worth it. He hoped he would come up with a plan on the road, because he definitely wouldn't, for sure, not in a million years, take her to his place.

. . .

"Alright, out we come."

John grunted as he lifted "Six" out of the backseat, closing the car door and starting up the walkway to his apartment building. His unstable companion was half asleep and wasn't helping much as he started his journey. The stairs faced him when he got in through the door. They stared at him as though mocking him for his circumstance. He had to go up two stories and judging by his partner's dragging feet and the way he was pretty sure his right arm supported most -if not all- of her weight, she would not be very helpful.

Looking down at her, he let out a conflicted breath through his nose.

"Sorry, Six." He muttered, quickly using his other arm to cradle under her knees. Yes, he was doing this. He was carrying a stranger, bridal style, up the stairs to his one bedroom apartment.

He smiled tightly to a neighbour as they passed, nodding his head. "Evening."

The woman looked at the girl in his arms, but didn't ask questions about it, just like he didn't ask questions about where she was going that required her to leave at one o'clock in the morning.

He tried to be as quiet as possible with laying the girls' feet back down and getting his keys out of his pocket. The lock turned and the door opened, letting the couple in and closing again with the help of the blond's heel. Taking the woman immediately to his bedroom didn't take much thought for John, for as long as he had this plan he had always pictured himself taking the couch. The bed was already made when he opened the door, and he remembered that he should change the sheets. It's not like the bed was dirty or anything, it was just a polite thing to do for a guest.

Said guest was deposited on the couch while he grabbed some fresh sheets from a closet and put them on the bed. He decided he would just use the ones he pulled off the bed to make up his sleeping quarters on the couch. It didn't take him long, and soon enough John was lifting the woman again, this time to the place where she could sleep without any more interruption.

"Where...?" He was surprised to hear her voice again, as quiet and mumbled as it was. He rushed to respond, because this was definitely a question he knew she should know the answer to.

"You're at my apartment." He paused, unable to feel like his words were being absorbed. "I'm John, by the way."

He had hoped the introduction would lead to a similar choice of words from the young woman, but no such luck. She mumbled something as she attempted to move her feet, but only ended up troubling herself more.

"Hey, don't worry about that. I've got you." He said gently as they passed the doorway. He knew his words were falling on deaf ears, but he wanted to assure her anyway.

He sat her down on the bed and she dropped so fast that even she has the sense to bring her hands up to hold onto his shoulders, her grip surprisingly tight. He reached up and took her hands off him, but also making sure she was steady before he let go. She still struggled to sit on her own, and reached another hand out anyway. John chuckled when it fell in the same place.

Looking down, he noticed the sneakers still on her feet. He wasn't sure if he should take them off or not, but they couldn't be comfortable to sleep in, even for a person who's not aware they're even in a bed. He kneeled down and tried to touch only the shoes as he slipped them off her feet. Thankfully they were already loose.

The woman's hand had migrated to the upper part of his back instead of his shoulder when he was crouched down, and he reached a hand up to remove it once again. Holding the shoes in one hand, he looked up to be met with the face of his companion.

He swallowed hard. Yup, her eyes were grey. A vibrant shade against black eyeliner, some of which was smeared around her eyelid, the streaks feathering off like brushstrokes. He already knew she was beautiful, but being this close, it was now impossible to ignore the hair framing her face in perfectly messy strands. He felt bad for staring, but how could he not? Someone could not be so inconceivably drunk and still look that beautiful. But he was wrong, because she did.

His legs straightened abruptly, bringing his body up and forcing the woman out of his vision while he dropped the sneakers on the floor by the foot of the bed. He ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm going to get you a change of clothes." He informed her as if she cared. He turned his back to the swaying girl on his bed, guilt rushing through him as he looked through his drawers. He couldn't find much, but took out the smallest shirt he had along with a pair of jogging pants he was sure would go far beyond her ankles.

 _Maybe it wasn't too bad_ , he thought to himself as he closed the drawer, trying to justify his guilt. _It's not like I was looking anywhere else but her face anyway._

Then he turned around.

"Shit." He span back around so fast the shirt fell from his hand. He rushed to pick it up while making sure he didn't catch view in that direction again. His hand ran through his hair.

Six had her pants off.

What the hell was he going to do? He wasn't sure why or how she took them off in the first place but he couldn't force her to put on pants.

So he did what any gentleman would do in the situation. He left the room.

Leaving the extra clothes on the foot of the bed, he hurried out the doorway and into the kitchen where he hoped getting her a glass of water would give her enough time to get under the covers. John was worried to head back in but he knew he had to. Hell, when he left her she was still sitting up. As unstable as she is, she could be on the floor by now. And he would be damned if he let a guest sleep on the floor.

To buy himself some extra time, he proceeded to collect a bucket, a tab of sticky notes and a pen, because as far as he was concerned, an explanation would be in order when she woke up.

He only glanced into the room as he entered, but quickly tore his eyes away as he saw her lying face down, the pulled back covers still in the same position as when he left. He creeped in armed with his handful of supplies along with a hand held up to the side of his face to act as a blinder. When he was near, he reached blindly with his free hand for the covers, sighing with relief when his hand caught the edge of the blanket. He pulled it over her, and only at that time did he take his hand down.

He wouldn't look at her again. After two instances of seeing things she didn't consent him to, he felt like an ass, even if it was an accident.

John placed the bucket strategically beside the bed, where he thought her head may be when she woke up and turned her on her side in case the sickness came sooner than the morning. The glass of water was placed on the nightstand and he got out the sticky notes and pen to start writing an explanation. He didn't know where to start. There was too much he wanted to explain that wouldn't fit on a small piece of paper. In the end, he settled with a short synopsis of the night followed by notification of him leaving her a change of clothes, and finally, directions to the bathroom. It would have to do.

He did briefly consider grabbing a few aspirin for her, but he didn't like the way a couple of lone pills would look on the bedside table, so he abandoned the idea.

He glanced at her once more; the sleeping woman who he could only relate to a number, and the stranger in which he put into his bed. Nerves ate him up as he walked back to the living room. But when he thought of everywhere else she could have ended up tonight, he was glad she took his bed.

. . .

She didn't wake up gradually in the hazy throbbing and grossness that usually followed a night of drinking. There was no lead up, no eased consciousness, no gentle lull into a morning of sickness. Instead, her mind was rudely thrust back into the real world and she woke to a hammering in her skull combined with a deep ache throughout her entire body. But aside from it all, she immediately suspected that what seemed to be the sensation of a thousand knives stabbing into her gut was the cause of her rude awakening. Her head filled with nausea, and then she was certain.

She instinctively pulled herself to the edge of the mattress before she threw up, the spinning in her head growing stronger by the moment. She didn't have time to be upset about ruining the floor, because she somehow found the energy to get up to find a bathroom before the train reaction kept coming.

She refused to open her eyes as she felt around for the door, though it somehow felt misplaced when she finally found it. Her muddled brain didn't question it until she ran into a wall on her way to the bathroom. It didn't make sense. Most mornings she walked the halls half-asleep, swaying with her eyes closed, and she never so much as stubbed her toe in her blind treks. Through some miracle, something managed to click in her brain. _Is this...?_

Opening her eyes the most minuscule amount of distance required for sight, she tried not the puke again as she took in the hall around her. She may have been out of it, but even in her hardly conscious state she was able to comprehend that her walls were beige, not grey. And unless her bathroom door became camouflaged with the magically painted wall overnight, she wasn't on the way to throw up in _her_ toilet.

A small amount of fear instilled in her for a moment before her bathroom search became frantic, the urge to vomit getting more and more apparent with each second she thought about her mysterious whereabouts. She finally found the small, dark room, her knees giving out when she reached the toilet and her stomach expelling it's content in a not-so-pleasant manner. Apparently she went to bed on an empty stomach, because it was nearly all alcohol.

A lot of fucking alcohol.

She wasn't sure how long she kneeled on the floor, she only knew that by the time she got around to flushing the toilet, she felt like absolute shit. She was surprised she never threw up before this, but then, she could always hold her liquor. Her throat was sore and she breathed heavy and shakily, impossibly winded. Still, she hauled herself up with an unsteady effort, one hand braced on the sink counter, the other on the toilet cover. Then she stood looking into a mirror.

Jesus, she was a frightening sight. Her face had all the characteristics of a person who had ten too many drinks; all blotchy and red, and the parts that weren't blotchy were pale. She thought her red rimmed eyes complimented the dark bags underneath rather well, and was even nervous herself about the shade of pink replacing the location where white was supposed to be in her eyes. Her hair was an entirely different story all together. She was almost certain that she had it in a ponytail when she left last night, but she guessed it now somehow came alive and evolved into a new species overnight. Either that or a species was _living_ in her hair. Each option seemed equally as probable.

In her fright, she nearly forgot about the lovely hammering in her head, it came back full force then, and she groaned, caring little for whoever else was in the house to hear her. She noticed the mirror was a medicine cabinet and maneuvered her shaky hands to pull it open, her doubling vision scanning for a painkiller. She wasn't picky in the type at the moment. She finally recognized a bottle of aspirin and shook three capsules out of the bottle, washing them down with some water from the sink. She also used it to clean up her face a bit, but couldn't be bothered to even try with her hair. As far as she was concerned, there was no hope.

It was only as she started dragging her feet back towards the room she came from that she realized something was not quite right. Of course, excluding the fact that she was in someone else's house with the worst hangover of her life. No, it was something other than that, but she couldn't put her finger on it. But then in a miraculous display of pure intelligence, she realized what it was.

She was wearing no pants.

She hadn't a clue why her drunken self felt the need to take off her jeans, but they most definitely were not on her body. She didn't ponder the query for long and made a faster effort to get to the -her?- room, closing the door once inside. She pressed her hands to her eyes as she collapsed onto the bed, barely holding herself in a sitting position.

It was funny really. Who else can tell the story about how they woke up in strange apartment, not remembering how they got in bed or how their clothes came off? Then she almost laughed at her internal question, because the answer was _a lot of people._ She just never thought she'd fall into the category. But now she's who knows where and having done who knows what with who knows who. She guessed she didn't know herself as well as she thought.

The woman sighed as she remembered her earlier mishap, and took a venture to imagine the mess in the floor. In fact, she was surprised she wasn't stepping in it. A stringy strand of hair interrupted her already limited vision as she peered down to the floor. It had to be a miracle, or the well-thinking owner of this apartment that put the bucket there, exactly where the sickness happened. There was no mess whatsoever, other than what was inside the bucket.

Despite feeling it near impossible to move at the moment, she felt it was her civic duty to wash it out right then and there, thumping back out into the hall and back to the washroom. She still only had her underwear on under her -thankfully- large shirt because what the hell, nobody came around the first time. Maybe the apartment was empty.

By the time she brought the bucket back to the room, her ears rang and pain stabbed her head with each step, her squinted eyes not doing much to block out the brightness of the hall. It was dark in her room though, because somebody had the mind to close the blinds.

This time she collapsed fully on the bed, willing away the ringing in her ears and the ache that was radiating around her entire being. Her head lolled lazily to the side, and that's when the weird assault of colours drew her eyes to the bedside table. Upon a strained lift of her head, she found the coloured things to be sticky notes and behind them was a glass of water alongside a short stack of clothes. She propped herself up on an elbow and blinked as the words blurred together on the paper. She took a gulp of water and tried again, this time righting herself into a sitting position. It seemed to be an explanation spanning across four separate sticky notes. She finally managed to clear her vision enough to read the first one.

 _Long story short, you were very drunk last night. I couldn't get your address so I brought you to my apartment since you didn't seem alright to be alone._

It was at this point the person writing it seemed to have some conflict. A few words are scratched out and they finally settled with,

 _Nothing happened between us._

The aching woman didn't know what a relief it would be to find out that fact until she saw it on paper. And even if she didn't know if the stranger behind this note was the most trustworthy character, she decided not to question it for now, instead starting on the second note.

 _I left a change of clothes for you if you want it. They won't fit well but they're an option. You can also wash your own clothes._

More scratched out words, until...

 _I don't know where your pants are._

She felt her cheeks flame and she closed her eyes in mortification. Reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose, she let out a groan at herself.

Her eyes moved to the next note.

 _The bathroom is right across the hall and to the left, you'll see it. There's extra toothbrushes in the third drawer down and feel free to use the toothpaste and mouth wash._

One more note.

 _There's a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet, and I left some towels by the shower in case you feel up to it. I'll probably be in the living room if you need me._

Hastily added to the bottom of the last note was,

 _My name is John by the way._

The woman hadn't felt her heart swell with so much gratitude before. The pure level of it was almost too much for her hazy mind to handle. It was simply impossible; somebody being so kind, so selfless as to take a complete stranger into their home, give them a bed, and treat them like a highly esteemed guest. Not mention the state she must have been in. No, she certainly hasn't felt gratitude like this before. She couldn't believe that this guy was acting as though he owed her something. She considered going out to thank him, but she also didn't want to scare the poor guy out of his own house with her appearance.

It was also nice that she now had permission to use his aspirin since that ship was sailed.

She decided to take up the offer of a shower, and as she made her way to the bathroom for the third time in this weird morning, she still didn't have pants on. She couldn't be bothered with the task now, honestly believing that her savour was entitled to see anything he wanted at this point. But she also suspected he wouldn't want to even if he had the chance. Considering his sheepish and conflicted explanation, she felt more secure than she had a right to as she walked this stranger's halls.

Now, only one more mystery remained for her exhausted mind.

How the fuck did the shower work?

. . .

The water from the shower must have blessed her with a miracle. The dampness made her hair miraculously tameable, and the pale-to-red ratio on her face seemed to have merged to create something close to her natural skin tone. Of course, not everything was cured. She still felt like absolute crap and her eyes still squinted like she was staring into the sun, even though she showered in the dark. Every cell in her body pulled toward the prospect of returning to the bed but she refused it. It was bad enough that she was already here. This is not a place where she would spend all day nursing her hangover.

She had already put on the clothes that her saviour had provided her, and the oversized shirt and pants were not doing her body any favours. Putting her actual clothes on was not an option though. She'd rather meet this guy looking sloppy than smelling of alcohol and sweat. Oh well, she no longer looked like something resurrected from the dead, and in her condition, she believed it was all she could hope for.

Armed with a haphazard ponytail and no clue what to say to whoever she would meet beyond the bathroom and the bedroom, she scuffled out of the bathroom to finally meet the guy. _John_ , she reminded herself hastily. _His name is John._

It didn't take her too long to find the living room, but he wasn't there. Instead, the kitchen connected to the space, only separated by the change of flooring from wood to tile. A man stood back-on to her, looking down at the counter and looking like he was preparing something there. She noted that he was tall and obviously fit, but she wasn't worried. If nothing happened already, nothing would. Not wanting to startle him by talking, she made her footsteps slightly heavier as she approached, hoping he would notice. She wasn't excited for the whole 'thank you' thing, but it needed to happen, and it was time to get it over with.

He heard her footfalls and turned around, and then she suddenly regretted doing anything to draw attention to herself. Because out of everything that could have come to her mind, she did not expect her first thought to be _hot damn_. She could feel her squinted eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. _Him_ and his shaggy blond hair. _Him_ and his deep blue eyes. _Him_ and his jaw line. His lips lifted into a shy smile and if the woman wasn't so shocked she might laugh. Oh John, she thought, you have nothing to be shy about.

Even more shocking, _she_ felt shy. Here he was looking like an angel in jogging pants and t-shirt, nothing but handsome. Meanwhile, she needed a twenty minute shower to look anything close to presentable. She didn't know what to say. After all, what could she say to somebody who was the exact definition of saint. She already knew that she was in-debt to him, but somehow it made it worse that he was attractive.

So she stood there for a minute, feeling stupid as she willed words to make an appearance. But _God_ , she felt so awkward. At least she had pants on.

"Maren." She said finally. Her voice sounded a little scratchy, but he didn't seem to mind.

His lips pulled into a more amused smile, like there was a joke behind her introduction that she didn't get. "John." He looked nervous; one hand going to his pocket and the other scratching the back of his neck. She couldn't understand why he would be nervous. She felt like it was judgement day or something. If anything, he should be bursting with arrogance after what he did for her.

"I know." She replied. She cleared her throat, pointing behind her in the direction of her temporary bedroom. "I saw the sticky notes."

"Right." He said quickly, a little too quickly. He opened his mouth, seeming to debate what he wanted to say for moment, reminding Maren of his sticky notes. "I'm sorry."

The woman's eyebrows shot up. She could help it, she laughed. It was short and quiet, like her amusement knew that a loud noise would only cause her head to ache. "For what?"

John was looking at her weird, and for a moment she forgot she was wearing his clothes and probably still looked like something dragged out of the ditch. Of course he was looking her weird. Maren felt thankful that he was managing to hide his expressions as much as he was. Still, he seemed a little less on edge now.

"For uh, kind of bringing you here without your permission." He explained. She opened her mouth but he kept going. "Nothing happened though, I promise. I mean, it probably seems a bit suspicious because your pants _were_ off, but I didn't do that and I tried not to look but I did accidentally turn around when I didn't know it happened. And I should have put some aspirin on the table for your hangover but I thought it would look suspicious, but now I think I should have because- wait, that didn't come out right, I mean -"

"John, shut up." She had to stop his rambling. After all, even with the help of multiple pain killers, her muddled brain could only handle so much at once. She tried to address some of the concerns in his speech, but found herself unable to piece everything together. "You're a saint." She settled on, hoping the comment overshadowed her rudeness from her interruption.

He didn't seem convinced but smiled anyway, even though it didn't reach his eyes. He looked over his shoulder at whatever he was preparing when she walked in. She realized it was toast.

"Do you want some breakfast?" He asked. He sounded eager the break the awkward silence between them.

"No." She said immediately. He looked at her in a way that made her rush to explain. "I mean, I've already taken your bed and your clothes..." Maren glanced down at her attire as she spoke. "And your aspirin." She added hastily.

John nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah, you're right. A piece of toast would obviously be crossing the line." She felt her lips twitch and he smiled, a teasing light in his clear eyes. She was sure her's were foggy in comparison. "Come on." He continued. "Have one piece of toast. I promise, it'll be the best you've ever had."

She raised a sceptical eyebrow, drawing closer to the counter, which had two stools on one side and what she assumed to be storage space on the other. "The best I've ever had, huh?"

John grinned and she knew he took it as an agreement. He gestured to the stools and she she sat while he turned around, taking a couple pieces of bread out of a bag and placing them in a toaster. She didn't tell him she wanted more than one piece, but she was glad he assumed. She was hungry after the events of the morning.

"So," He started, turning around with his own food in hand, "any specific numbers you have an attachment to?"

It struck her as a weird question, and if her head was clearer she might have made an effort to conceal her facial expressions. Considering her mind could hardly find the sense to answer, she assumed her confusion was on full display. Plus, she heard John chuckle.

"Not that I know of." She replied. John nodded and took a bite of his toast. She could see his lips stretch into a badly stifled smile and she sighed, curiosity and premature embarrassment causing her to ask, "Why?"

"You told me your name was Six."

She closed her eyes and sighed at herself. "Of _course_ I did." She muttered, knowing that her drunk self was never one to bother with silly concepts like logic. "Well, it's not." Maren opened her eyes, trying hard not to squint so she could seem at least a little more presentable. John narrowed his own eyes at her.

"See, now it sounds suspicious. How do I know that 'six' isn't some alias?"

"Why would I have an alias?"

"Because you're a secret government assassin, obviously."

She raised her eyebrows with a flat expression and John grinned. The expression made her want to smile more than the joke. "Did I say anything else?" She asked, relieved when he shook his head.

"No, you only said, like, two words the entire time. You basically passed out as soon as I got you in the car." He smiled reassuringly even though Maren was sure her drunken state was less than unpleasant to deal with. "I tried to get your address but-"

"That's probably why I said 'six'." She interrupted, but immediately felt bad for cutting him off. Jesus, this wasn't just anyone she was talking to, it was the stranger she was in debt to. Surely she could find some semblance of politeness inside herself just for this one occasion. "Sorry." She shook her head at herself. "It's just that my house number is six. It's probably where I got it from."

"Ah." He nodded, seemingly running out of things to say. She was too, and she thought about leaving for a moment before remembering the toast he was making for her. She forced herself to scramble together a topic of conversation.

"Could I get a drink?" She asked suddenly, regretting the words immediately. Great, asking for more stuff from him, like he hadn't already given her enough.

"Yeah, for sure." He jumped into action, standing by the fridge quicker than her eyes could even follow his movements. "What do you want?"

"I can get it myself." She said. "If that's okay." She added quickly, not wanting to invite herself into his fridge along with his home.

He smiled, and it was the teasing one again. The kind of smile that blocked out the throbbing in her head for a moment. "I didn't ask you to get it yourself. I asked what you wanted to drink."

She just looked at him for a moment before relenting. "Well, if you're going to be so bossy about it, orange juice." He laughed and nodded, grabbing a carton out of the fridge, along with a glass from a cupboard. She looked around while he poured her drink, finding a familiar looking phone case on the inside corner of the counter. "Is that my phone?" She asked.

John turned around while putting the cap onto the container, eyebrows furrowed until she pointed at the device. "Oh, yeah. I found it on the living room floor after you went to bed." He laid her drink on the counter in front of her. "Sorry, I should have given it to you earlier." He shook his head at what Maren could only assume to be himself, and reached over, grabbing it for her so she wouldn't have to stretch for it.

She gave him a look. "You need to stop apologizing for things you don't need to apologize for." He only smiled and nodded, and she had a feeling he was biting back another apology.

She hit the power button and cringed at the influx of texts from her roommates. She had to scroll down three times before she got to the end of the notifications. She still wasn't sure how many were there, but she saw a lot of capital letters and exclamation marks, along with a threat to get the police involved if the texts were not answered soon. There were also several missed calls.

"Oh boy." John cringed too. "You better go deal with that."

She sighed. "Good idea."

Standing up, she already began opening the phone app as she walked into the living room. She debated taking a seat on the couch, lest she seem too comfortable in a house that she had no right to be, but she admitted defeat quickly after imagining what she'll have to deal with in a few seconds.

She pressed the number of her least worry-driven friend first and listened to the phone ring once... Twice...

"Well look who decided to freaking call!"

"Sorry, I-"

"Do you know how worried we were?"

"I'm starting to get a feeling."

"The last we heard from you, you had just gotten fired! How did we know you weren't going to go jump off a bridge or something?"

"That's extreme-"

"You don't call, you don't text! You could be murdered and left in a ditch with a knife sticking out of your back!"

"That's oddly specific."

"Don't be a smartass, Maren. This is serious."

Maren could tell from her friend's voice that she was calming down, and she hoped they would somehow graduate to a halfway civil conversation. All hope of that vanished as she heard a voice in the background.

"Is that Maren?"

Maren's eyes widened. "Riley, do _not_ put Mar on the phone."

"Put her on speaker."

"Do _not_ put me on speaker."

Riley laughed. "Oh Maren," she said, "you're about the _hear_ how serious this is."

Maren took a breath and held the phone away from her ear as another voice came out of it, very much not in the mood for forgiveness. Maren got it, her friend was a worrier, but it didn't mean she had to listen.

After a minute, she heard Marina sigh and she knew she had gotten all of her nights of worries out. She held the phone back to her ear and her friend's voice was unsurprisingly quieter, though still irritated. "Where are you anyway?"

"Oh, uh..." Maren looked up, caught John's eyes and immediately looked down again. She'd rather sit through more yelling then have to explain this. "I crashed at someone's apartment."

There was silence, and Maren had expected that. After all. She didn't have many other friends- Wait... is that what she considered John now? A friend? She glanced at him again but thankfully he was now turned the other way, pretending to examine something on the fridge. _No he's just a good-hearted guy_ , she concluded, shaking off whatever feeling was nagging at her. Then she chastised herself. _Not a guy, a man_ , she corrected. She looked him up and down. _Definitely a man._

"Who is this someone?" Riley asked. The phone must have been on speaker.

"His name is John." Maren tried to be quiet as possible, but he probably didn't care wether she talked about him or not.

"Maren, you didn't-"

"No!" She said it a little too loud and quickly corrected her tone, hoping John was still opting for the pretending-to-ignore-the-conversation option. "No." She repeated, quieter. "He just, like... uh... saw-no that's not right, wait..." She sighed. How could she explain this in a way that didn't make it awkward for him to overhear? "I'm too hungover to explain, I'll tell you later." She finally settled on.

"Okay then." Marina said, not seeming to like that idea. Maren couldn't care less. "You _are_ safe though?"

"Yes." The reply came quick and without a second thought.

"Okay then." Riley repeated Marina's words. "So... is John hot?"

Maren raised an eyebrow at the question because, _Jesus_ , could they really not sense his attractiveness through just a phone call? It was glaringly obvious. She leaned back on the couch, trying to make the reply as casual as possible.

"Uh huh."

"Like on a scale from one to ten."

"Ten." Another quick reply.

"Is he nice?"

"He's making me toast right now."

"And _why_ didn't you have sex with him?"

"I was drunk." She saw him glance over out of the corner of her eye and suddenly realized how strange the responses must have sounded without hearing the conversation. She refused to look at him, feeling like he would find out the embarrassing topic of conversation just by locking eyes. "I can't even remember anything."

"You should get his number."

"Probably."

"And then a marriage license."

" _And_ we're done talking. I'll see you guys later." She hung up the phone, walking back to the kitchen like the conversation was just boring. In reality, she could admit to a small bit of fear at the prospect of John somehow finding out that her friend's may be planning a wedding behind both their backs.

John looked at her as she sat back down, seemingly out of place in his own kitchen. "I take it your friends are mad." He finally said.

"Not mad, just worried."

He nodded. "They do have a right." He agreed. She looked at the counter, feeling that stupid embarrassed feeling settle inside her again. She already knew what she did was idiotic, and she knew that she probably looked like a fool. John just smiled a little. "So, Six," he said. she snorted at the name and John's lips pulled into what could almost be a grin. "What happened yesterday to cause you to go to a bar by yourself?"

She almost turned defensive, about to tell him that lots of adults go get a couple of drinks alone all the time. It's not like she was some anomaly or something. But then, she did have more than a couple drinks. And John did deserve a lot more than an explanation.

"Well, should I start from the beginning?" She asked.

"Hmm..." John clicked his tongue and pretended to think. Maren noticed a crease appear between his eyebrows as they tugged together. "That _is_ where people usually start, isn't it?"

"Oh, and you're funny too. Great." She took a sip of her orange juice, looking at him over the rim of the cup with an unimpressed gaze.

His mouth quirked into a smile and she hated it because _damn_ , she wanted to smile back so bad. "And yet, for some reason you don't seem amused."

"I am, don't worry." She said. "I'm just trying to figure out wether I should file that talent in above or _below_ 'toast maker extraordinaire'."

"Oh yeah, that _is_ a tough one." John nodded with another thoughtful look. If the comment didn't make a smile appear of her face, his expression certainly made her put up a fight. She was pretty sure her lips twitched when she saw the crease between his eyebrows appear again, and she hoped he didn't notice. But then he grinned, and she knew he caught her, but she was too distracted by his gorgeous eyes to care. "Well you know what I'm trying to figure out?" He asked. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and he continued. "Why you're avoiding my question."

"Because it's sad and then you're going to feel sad for me and I don't want you to because it's stupid."

He must have been thrown off guard by the honest answer, but she wasn't. Her hangover mouth was never one to want to hold back. John quickly washed away his surprise and instead shrugged. "Try me."

Maren looked at him seriously. "I don't know if you're ready for how pathetic this is going to be."

"Ready is my middle name."

Another almost-smile. She looked down. "Alright then." She took a breath. "So first, my alarm died and I slept in. Then my car wouldn't start so I had to wake up my neighbour to give me a boost, and he wasn't thrilled about it. I broke down again on my way to work and I couldn't flag anyone down so I walked the rest of the way in the rain, only to find out when I got there that they were planning on firing me anyway. Which was just..." she chuckled, "the absolute highlight of my year. So I went to get a coffee but Tim Hortons made a mistake and gave me a tea instead, and then I tripped up on my way into the bar." She nodded, tracing a finger along the counter top absentmindedly. "Oh, and I got a fly bite, which is probably the worst thing out of it all."

"I agree." John smiled for a moment but quickly sobered up, his mouth slanting. "The rest sounds pretty terrible too. I'm sorry that happened to you."

She looked at his sympathetic face for a second, and while it was nice that, yeah, he actually cared, she hated that look. She hated when anybody looked at her like that, because she didn't need it. Especially not now while enduring her extra-irritable-hangover-extravaganza.

"Don't look at me like that." She ordered, maybe a little too harshly.

John didn't bother playing dumb, vanishing the look from his face in less time than it took him to blink. She narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her cup as she took a sip and he held up his hands. "Sorry, it's sad." He defended. She saw the corner of his lip quirk up. "Also funny..." she glared at him, "but mostly sad."

"And that's why is didn't want to tell you." She pointed her cup at his face. "Because I get the whole 'poor baby' treatment. Trust me, I'm fine and I'm not going to fall into a deep state of depression because I lost my crappy job at McDonalds. So... there." She nodded at her statement and John smirked at her over-exaggerated version of 'fine'.

"Well, I'm honestly more concerned about the fly bite." He played along.

"It's on my ankle."

"Such a tragedy."

He broke into a laugh before she could this time, but her own grin wasn't far behind. God, what was it with this guy? For some reason even her hangover couldn't battle whatever he was making her feel.

He looked at her for a moment before he turned only a tad serious. "I hope this morning is at least a _little_ better than the day you had yesterday."

She smirked and watched as his eyebrows perked up in amusement at the oddly cheerful expression. "It would be, if not for one thing."

"And what would that be, Six?" He asked teasingly.

She let herself smile at the joke. "John." She said. He raised his eyebrows expectantly and she copied the expression. "The toast is burning."

It took him a second to comprehend what she said, but then he did. She tilted her head innocently as the smell of blackened bread caused his eyes to widen, watching behind him as smoke drifted to the ceiling.

"Shit."

* * *

 **Hey guys, thanks for reading. Like I said, I will update this every now and then but it is not my main concern at the moment.**

 **Nevertheless, hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought :)**


	2. Not a Serial Killer

**Hey guys! Gonna start off with saying that I'm sorry for the wait on my other story, but I'm not dead and a chapter _will_ be coming, I promise. I know it's not much but hopefully this one-shot should entertain y'all until I work through some writers block. **

**Thank you so much for the support on the last chapter, everyone's reviews actually make me so happy!**

 **I hope you enjoy, and happy New year :)**

In hindsight, taking an unlit path back to her university residence at nine thirty in the night wasn't Marina's brightest idea.

The path was made to be walked in the day, exemplified by the uneven dirt trail she continued on which proved more than a little difficult to walk without the use of her sight. The patchwork of moonlight on the trail wasn't exactly helping matters either, especially since most of the light was blocked off by trees, causing long shadows to be casted over the dirt.

Honestly, she could see pretty good in the dark anyway, but she still had her limits. One of them apparently including the sides of the trail, where darkness cast over bushes and trees prevented her from seeing anything but unexplained shadows.

She stepped into a patch of moonlight on the path. Something creaked in the forest. She walked faster.

Okay, logically she knew there wasn't anything in the woods that could threaten her. She was near a busy university campus after all. No animal that wanted to harm her would be this far out of the wilderness. Then she thought that maybe a busy university campus might be the perfect place for something other than an animal to be that wanted to say... kill her.

She walked faster.

She was practically jogging at this point, holding onto the straps of her book bag to keep it steady as she tried to swiftly escape her irrational thoughts. But God, the dark, the rustling leaves, the shadows, the unexplained noises... it all played a part in creeping her the hell out, even if she knew her theories were a bit extreme.

Even so, something felt off. Or more specifically something _sounded_ off. At first she thought it was just the dirt scrunching under her feet at her quick pace, until she heard a crutch of dirt when her foot was off the ground. So like the extremely smart person she was, she immediately stopped walking, slowly turning with widened eyes and looking down the trail. She listened closer.

Footsteps. She heard them. Heavy, quick, but far away sounding footsteps. She squinted down the trail but saw nothing. She continued looking and as the footfalls drew nearer, she started to see a dark shape between the shadows of the path, only visible when it entered the lighted spaces. More than a small strike of fear instilled in her as she realized it was a person coming towards her. Fast.

Really, she should _seriously_ be running away at this point. But as she stared at the progress the figure was making, she just really wished she had a speed radar because damn was this guy was going fast. _Definitely fast enough to catch up to me_ , she noted as she finally came to her senses. She wasn't a runner, she knew that. And although her sprinting ability had never been tested under the current circumstances, she'd rather not take a chance. She looked from side to side, her only option lying in the dark sides of the path which had creeped her out so much earlier, and she definitely didn't want to stoop to crouching down in some strange bushes.

She glanced back down the trail, and the figure was closer now. Surprisingly closer considering how little time had gone by since she last checked on the position of the person in question. Actually, she figured out that he was a man just based on the height and stature. Her eyes widened because no way would she be able to outrun or outfight a guy. Sure she was fit, but running at super speed was a little beyond her abilities.

He was super close now, almost to her. He was still sprinting aggressively and Marina's heart pounded the hardest it ever had. _Yup_ , she thought distantly, _I'm going to die tonight because I was too much of a wimp to hide in some damn bushes_.

The only thing she could think to do was step backwards as the man came closer, his pace not slowing in the slightest. Her feet moved backwards on their own, which was fortunate because her mind really wasn't in any state to be telling her body directions. He kept coming closer. She kept moving back. He was _right_ there in front of her. Her heart pounded frantically.

One more step back and she moved out of the shadow, into a patch of moonlight.

The man screamed.

She was too surprised to even jump at the reaction, because oh my God, what the hell was _he_ screaming about? She was the one being chased down by a psycho killer who probably wanted to wear her skin as a suit, and _he_ was scared? She distantly thought her predicament deserved at least a little more respect than a random screech into the dark, even if it was coming from the guy who was causing her fear.

Suddenly a thud and a grunt sounded in quick succession and, _oh_ , did he actually trip up? She couldn't see too well in the dark, but she did see the tall figure tumble to the ground in what she thought was an extremely ungraceful fashion for a seasoned killer. And then, for the umpteenth time in the last couple minutes, she thought that she should _definitely_ be running now. Far away. But all she could do was stare in a little bit of pity as he struggled to pick himself up, muttering what sounded like... apologies?

Marina shook her head. What the hell was going on?

Against her better judgment, and literally all advice spewed by news channels for the situation, she cautiously moved closer to the man, where he was almost hilariously disoriented on the ground. Taking a steadying breath, she couched down slowly and put a hand on his arm. Her eyes widened when his head whipped in her direction at the touch, and she thought for a second that it was the end.

"Oh God!" He got up so fast that her hand fell from his arm and he stumbled back a couple steps when he stood straight, running a hand through his hair. She was so surprised by his outburst that all she could do was stand and watch with wide eyes as he took a step in her direction, making strange hand gestures. "I almost ran into you! I'm so sorry! I swear I had no idea you were there, I was running because I'm afraid of the dark!"

He was panting, definitely out of breath from either the run of his fear. Marina didn't bother telling him that getting run into was the least of her worries. And as she looked at him, breathless and almost scared, she realized how far her worries were from the truth. It was funny, so she laughed. It was soft but it ended almost as soon as it started because she _really_ shouldn't be laughing. No, a suspicious man just went from 'serial killer guy' to 'clumsy sorry guy' in less than a second, this was not a laughing situation.

"It's okay. Um..." Marina didn't know what to do with her hands. The man stood in front of her expectantly like she was saying the most important thing in the world, when in reality she had no clue what to say at all. She breathed out a laugh again, feeling better about it when she saw his grin, even in the dark. "Are, uh... are you alright?"

"Me?" He asked, and he sounded so genuinely shocked that Marina looked around for a second, wondering if there was anyone else she could be talking to. He noticed and held out his hands. "Sorry, it's just I should be the one asking if _you're_ alright. I mean, it must have been a little, uh, frightening for you." He brought his hand to the back of his neck. She still couldn't see his face very well, but imagined there would be a sheepish expression on it judging by his apologetic tone.

"Yeah, a little. But I'm good." She nodded even though he likely couldn't see her and stuffed her hands in her hoodie pockets, wondering where to take the conversation from here. She figured walking away would be rude.

Just as the silence began to feel awkward, the stranger pointed down the path in the direction he was running. "So, are you going that way?"

Marina automatically glanced in the direction like she needed to remind herself which way to walk. "Yeah, I'm heading to residence."

"Ah, cool cool. Great..." He clapped his hands together and nodded. There was another silence.

Marina decided to break it this time, taking a couple steps back. "Anyway, so I should probably get going-"

"Oh yeah, of course." He made a gesture down the path and Marina nodded, starting to walk away. It was only a couple seconds before he spoke up again. "Just- um..." She turned back around, looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm going that way too and it's kinda creepy out here, so uh... could I maybe walk with you?"

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he watched her nervously. She hadn't quite expected that request, and didn't know if it was a good idea because literally two minutes ago he was running toward her like he wanted to kill her. But then she recalled the rest of the sheepish exchange, and she couldn't help but feel bad for the guy.

"Sure." She replied, laughing a little at the way he visibly perked up, standing straighter and his grin showing through the dark again.

"Really?" He asked, though he obviously wasn't questioning it by the way he quickly caught up to her. "Thanks. I don't even know why I took this stupid path, it's like pitch black and I suck at seeing in the dark."

She chuckled and looked up as they passed through a patch of moonlight. Okay, wow. He was definitely handsome, and she knew immediately that he was just one of those people _born_ to be cheerful. It was shown in his smile and the brightness in his green eyes. His curly hair almost touched his eyebrows since it was a bit too long, but it was probably a mess from the running and the fall, and she didn't mind anyway. It looked amazingly carefree, and it's what she immediately pinned his personality as. His eyes turned to her just as they entered a shadowed part, and then then it was too dark to see each other again.

"My name is Joseph, by the way." He said.

Right, she almost forgot she didn't even know his name. He stuck out his hand and she shook it. "Marina."

"Ah." He took his hand away, his tone sounding like she just told him the most interesting thing in the world. "Of the Sea..." He said a little quieter.

Her eyebrows furrowed, and the young woman looked up even though she could only see a minimal amount of his expression. He was probably still smiling. "What?"

She could see his eyes a little though, and they widened a bit. "Oh, sorry. I take Latin." He explained, which did not answer her question in the slightest. He seemed to realize this and continued. "Uh, your name, Marina, is the feminine version of the word marinus which means 'of the sea'."

"Oh wow." Her amazement was genuine. She had no idea her name meant anything, let alone being told the meaning by a stranger. Well, he wasn't exactly a stranger anymore. She knew his name after all.

"Yeah, some of it is cool. Most of it isn't." He shrugged and if a shrug could be cheerful, his was.

She smiled. To keep the conversation going, she asked, "What does your name mean?"

His silence was probably telling of his answer. "You know," he started with a laugh, "you would think that would be the first thing I would find out, but you would be wrong." Marina laughed and he grinned. "It probably doesn't mean anything. Or nothing cool like yours anyway. I guess it's hard to beat a Sea Queen."

"That _is_ a tough one." She agreed. Joseph's laugh was easy and smooth, the kind of sound that comes from someone who laughs a lot, or at least likes to laugh. She felt better because before now, he was the one keeping the conversation interesting. She was glad that she at least got to say something of worth. "I have a question."

He made an elaborate hand gesture, and she wasn't quite sure what it meant until he said, "Ask away, Your Majesty."

"Out of everything you could have chosen... Latin?" She usually wouldn't be so blunt with people she just meant, but she felt that Joseph just had a way of making people feel comfortable. Either that or the fear from the earlier situation loosened her up.

"Yeah..." They stepped into the moonlight again and she could see his face was screwed up. "I needed an elective and the rest were all eight o'clock classes." He tilted his head. "Well, except for french, but I really hate french."

They stepped into a shadow again, and judging by a look ahead and the sudden density of trees, they wouldn't have a chance to enter another spot of moonlight for a while. She was suddenly happy this guy turned out not to be a serial killer, because even with her decent vision in the dark, even she would have had to question continuing on her own at this point. Although, she didn't know how much help she would get from Joseph if they were faced with an actual problem. If he put his obvious running abilities to use, she would be left in the dust.

"I like french." She stated.

"You're probably good at french. I suck at it."

"Well, I suck at Latin, so you've got me beat there."

He looked down at her. She couldn't see the details of his face, but she could see his teeth when he grinned. "Fair enough." He said eventually. "But I bet you would be great at it. You seem smart."

"You've known me for less than five minutes. How can you tell?" She pointed out.

"Easy, you're wearing a book bag. Clearly you have some brains." She felt her bag lift a little off her shoulders, and she really hoped it was Joseph pulling on it for emphasis. "And apparently some _serious_ shoulder strength. Jesus, what's in here?" He let go and she felt all the weight on her shoulders again. Sure it was heavy, but she didn't notice anything until he said.

"Um, Bio, Chem, and psych." At his silence, she continued. "You know, midterms are coming up."

Joseph let out a short, disbelieving breath. "See? Smart." He tapped the side of her head and she vaguely wondered if the casual contact stage of a friendship should be reached after five and a half minutes of knowing someone. She didn't say anything about it and looked at his hand as he held it in front of her expectantly, palm up.

"What?" She asked. Did he want a high-five or something?

"Let me carry your bag for you." He requested.

"Oh, no it's okay. You don't need to."

"Queen of the Sea..." he paused dramatically, "I must."

"Why?" She asked, not accusing, just amused.

"There are many reasons, most of them involving the events of the last few minutes." He admitted, making the girl alongside of him roll her eyes but secretly agree. "Marina of the Sea," He had a theatrical tone to his voice which made her feel like he was about to go on a spiel, "if you don't let me carry that bag for you, my life will be forever plagued by sleepless nights and crushing guilt for never being able to make it up to you. So I ask, once more... may I please carry that lead weight you call a bag for you?"

She pressed her lips together to hide a smile because mock-serious speeches like this required a mock-serious response. But it was foolish because he couldn't even see her face, even though she had a sneaking suspicion that his facial expression was committing fully to his solemn roll. She slid her bag off her shoulders with a sigh that betrayed her grin completely, trying to put it in his hand as light as possible.

"Ah." He swung it onto his shoulder with what she assumed to be a sound of triumph. "It truly is an honour, Your Majesty." He shifted the bag with a grunt. "Are you sure there's not more in here? It seems really heavy."

She thought about it. "Of yeah, I forgot. It also has my french stuff."

"Of course it does." He said bitterly, which made her giggle and him grin. They walked a few steps in silence, which was weirdly comfortable considering how little time they knew each other. Joseph didn't let it go quiet for long though. "I like you, Marina of the Sea." He stated randomly, then nodded as though to confirm it.

The proclaimed Queen of the Ocean's eyebrows shot up at the firmness of his statement. Could someone really be that confident about liking someone they just met? But then, she thought she liked Joseph pretty well too. She actually felt a startling amount of fondness for him, considering he was the same person that nearly caused her twenty-three heart attacks not long ago. She was fairly certain that literal years were taken off both their lives due to that incident, but did she like him anyway? The answer was obvious.

"Uh, thanks." She replied. "You seem alright too."

She inwardly cringed at the statement. Not everyday someone determinedly proclaimed their new fondness of her, and the one time it happened she just had to reply with what might be the most deflating sentence she's ever uttered. It was at this point when she started to think that the creepy bushes on the side of the path were starting to look strangely appealing.

To her surprise -and immense relief- Joseph put a hand to his heart, and even though she'd known him for only a little amount of time, she could tell he was about the make things easy again. "Awe!" He gushed, drawing out the sound and punctuating it with a grin that seemed to light up the dark. "I just got complimented by Royalty. This is officially the highlight of my week- no, the highlight of my _month_."

She rolled her eyes but was weirdly flattered. She knew, after all, that he was only joking. "If this is the highlight of your month, it can't be going too good." She teased anyway.

"You're wrong." He accused immediately, chipper and bright. She vaguely thought that this might be the one time in her life when she was happy to be on the receiving end of those words. "This month has been spectacular. But running into you has been the most spectacular moment by far."

Something inside or chest twisted in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. She realized suddenly that it was nervousness, but not the bad kind. It was the kind of nervous you get when you're waiting in line for a roller coaster, the anxiousness of waiting to find out what you got on a test you already know you crushed. She didn't know why it was happening. She had just met the guy for God's sake. But even as she kept repeating that in her mind, she couldn't help but believe that he might have made her month a little more spectacular too.

"Well, I'm glad I could help?" She shrugged even if he couldn't see it and her face felt a little warmer than usual. Even though Marina had been cursing the darkness ten minutes ago, she found herself thanking it now.

Joseph didn't laugh, but she could tell he was smiling. And even though he couldn't see her red face, she had a feeling he knew, and was getting a kick out of it. "Oh, you did help. Immensely." He nodded. "I have a feeling we're going to be good friends, Marina of the Sea."

"Oh yeah?" She replied, just so she could reply with something. Because honestly? It was becoming increasingly harder to come up with responses.

"Oh yeah." He assured, but without any question whatsoever. He seemed to rethink it though, and held up a finger. "Actually, _great_ friends. We're not going to be good friends, we're going to be great friends. Especially if you like coffee. Do you like coffee?"

Marina didn't comment on the fact that she was almost certain that there wasn't a university student in existence who didn't practically live on the drink. "I do happen to enjoy a bit of coffee every now and then." She confirmed, looking up at him and knowing his grin was coming before she saw it.

"Great. That's great." He laughed a little. Marina couldn't help but look down to hide her growing smile, because the guy actually said it with the earnestness of someone who was truly glad that someone else liked coffee.

"Yeah, it is great." She agreed. "I really like that spot by the library. They have the best iced coffee and-"

"Wait, _iced_ coffee?" He interrupted incredulously.

Marina looked up cautiously, but it was too dark to see anything. She just had to assume by his tone that he was deeply offended. "Yes, iced coffee." There was a short silence before Joseph scoffed. She saw him shake his head and she sighed dramatically, sensing a speech coming. "Why?"

He clicked his tongue and shook his head again, like he was going to let it go. But after a moment, he must have decided the issue was simply too important to leave alone. "Oh you know, nothing except for the fact that coffee is supposed to be hot?"

"It's good."

"Coffee is supposed to be hot!" He repeated passionately. "Why would you put ice in something that was warm first? Obviously it's supposed to be warm."

"Well, maybe it's a hot day." Marina replied, struggling to keep the laugh out of her voice. "Maybe you don't like hot drinks. Maybe-" she took in a breath with mock incredulity, playing along, "Oh my God, _maybe_ it's actually good..."

He was silent for a minute, pretending to think it over. And he probably had a really serious look on his face too. "No." He said finally.

"Lots of people drink it." She continued. He grunted his disapproval but she just continued, now with a grin. "There's commercials for it and everything." She sighed. Still nothing. "More than half the population drinks it."

"I'm gonna need to see some proof on that, Your Majesty." He replied finally.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that." She assured. He nodded seriously and she couldn't help but laugh. He grinned and took it as a sign to continue.

"You're probably one of those weird people who don't like pineapple on pizza." He said out of the blue.

She didn't even try to act offended. "Isn't _liking_ pineapple on pizza the weird thing?"

It seemed she had stumped him for a moment. "Perhaps." He said slowly. "But if it's good then it doesn't matter."

"Iced coffee is good."

His head snapped to look at her even though she couldn't see his expression in the dark. He probably expected her to somehow perceive his facial expression in her head from the motion alone, which, in her mind, was completely ridiculous considering she _definitely_ hadn't already pinned it as narrowed eyes and a frown in record time.

"While I disagree with you with all of my being on that opinion, you do make a good argument." He finally admitted. She had to stop herself from muttering a smug 'ha!' At him, and instead chose the higher ground; a self satisfied grin that he had no chance of seeing in the dark. "How does tomorrow sound?"

Her eyebrows tugged in, her expression lasting only a second after the confusion set in. "Tomorrow? For what?"

"Well, you see, Your Majesty," he pointed a quick finger at her, as though chiding her for disattention. "I was going to suggest that we have coffee, at this rumoured spot by the library. If you like it so much. I'll even get you one of those..." he paused, and with what seemed like a physical effort, he said, " _iced_ coffees."

Marina would bet quite a lot of money that the boy actually shuddered while saying it, and the image brought a smile to her face. "That sounds good."

"Really? I mean, uh... yeah, sweet." Joseph cleared his throat, almost acting shocked she actually agreed. She couldn't imagine why. Well, except for the whole thinking-she-was-going-to-get-mauled-by-a-strange-man-with-incredible-sprinting-abilities incident. But that happened a whole ten minutes ago now, the ordeal was practically ancient. "So... I guess I should get your number." He continued slowly, like he was testing the idea out to see how she'd react. When no obvious alarms went off, he carried on. "You know, since we're going to be hanging out in the near future."

Marina hummed and nodded her head in solemn agreement. "That _would_ be helpful, wouldn't it?"

"Extremely helpful, yes." He said in the same serious tone she was using. "Not to mention that we're now good friends."

" _Great_ friends." She corrected emphatically.

"How could I forget?"

She chuckled as he reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, humming something under his breath that she was pretty sure wasn't even a real song as he opened the contacts app. As she was filling it out, he spoke up excitedly.

"Marina of the Sea, I believe I see the end of the trail."

She looked up from the phone and sure enough, up ahead a patch of light interrupted the surrounding darkness. It was surprisingly close considering neither of them had noticed it before this. "Would you look at that, it _does_ have an end." She said. Continuing her typing, she muttered. "I'm not sure how this ever got labeled as a shortcut..."

That easy laugh sounded from the guy beside her, and she smiled as she handed the phone back, which he took somehow cheerfully. "I guess we're just lucky we found good company."

She felt a blush on her cheeks and hoped it would be gone before they got out of the dark. "I guess we are."

Joseph sighed happily before a moment of comfortable silence. He finally said, "But seriously? I'm never taking this path again."

"Me neither." She laughed, then suddenly struck a serious tone. "Besides, I heard there's this really creepy guy who just runs up and down scaring biology majors."

"Oh really?" He played along. "Well maybe, the creepy guy is just misunderstood. And maybe the biology major scared him more than he scared her."

"I don't think so."

"Agree to disagree then."

She couldn't help a laugh as they approached the end of the trail, where a light from one of the dorm buildings was breaking through the trees in a dim pattern of leaves and branches. They walked through it and finally emerged below an old brick building, stepping onto a sidewalk that branched in two directions.

"Let there be light!" Joseph cheered, maybe disturbing some of the students that happened to have their windows open, but that was their problem. "Okay, so which way are you..." he looked down at her and suddenly stopped, the words trailing off into nothing.

"What?" She asked, confused.

He blinked and cleared his throat, a shade of red coating his cheeks for what Marina was almost certain was the first time in their conversation. He looked away, and when he spoke, his voice was a lot quieter than it was before. "I tripped up in front of a _really_ pretty girl."

At first Marina didn't understand, until she realized that it had been too dark for Joseph to see her until now. They had this huge conversation about pizza toppings and majors and Latin, and made plans to go out for coffee, all while he didn't even know what she looked like. Strangely, she found that part more flattering than the compliment. But she felt heat rise in her face anyway because, really, what else are you supposed to do when a guy calls you pretty?

"Don't worry, it wasn't that terrible." She assured.

He looked at her, deadly serious. "I screamed."

"More like a shriek actually." She grinned as he cringed and shook his head. "Or a screech or-"

"I think I get the picture." He cut her off, holding up a hand. She laughed and he smiled at her, and okay, it looked a lot nicer in the light. She pointed in the direction of her dorm since she was pretty sure that was the question he was going to ask her before he stopped. "I'm going that way."

He nodded and took a glance in the direction, as if deeming it safe. "I'll walk you." He decided, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans as they started in that direction.

"Just in case any scary guys almost run into me?" She guessed.

"Exactly. I can't leave royalty unprotected."

It was only a couple more minutes until they reached her building. Joseph waited patiently as she pulled her key card out of her back pocket. "You know, I'm really happy you're not as creepy as I thought." She said genuinely.

He struck an odd expression, one eyebrow arched and the other furrowed. But somehow it was what she had come to expect of him. "Not _as_ creepy as you thought, but still creepy? Thanks I guess?"

She rolled her eyes but grinned anyway, especially when he chuckled. "Well, I thought you might have been a serial killer as first, so it's a huge compliment really."

"Right, of course. Sorry." Joseph said. "By the way, just out of curiosity, how much 20/20 do you watch?"

Marina laughed but decided it was probably better not to tell him that there was multiple recordings of that exact show stored in her PVR back home. Instead she scanned her card and heard the click of the lock opening before she pulled on the door.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow." He smiled, and it was the kind of endearing expression that she was sure would get her in trouble some day, but for now it was completely innocent. She waved and he started to walk away.

"Oh, Joseph!" She called out. He turned around and looked at her in question. "My bag." She reminded.

His eyes lit up with the reminder and he rushed back, pulling it off his shoulder with a sheepish grin. "Right, sorry." He put the heavy bag in her hand and started his retreat again, this time backing away and sliding his hands into the pocket of his university hoodie. He winked. "Catch you later, Sea Girl."

He turned and she rolled her eyes fondly before closing the door to her building, digging in her bag for the key to her room. Honestly, she had never been so glad that someone turned out not to be a serial killer.

 **Alright, that's it, hope you enjoyed! Please review and let me know what you thought :)**


	3. On a Tuesday

**Hey guys!**

 **So I haven't updated this story in a ages but I've been sitting on this one-shot for a while so here it is :)**

 **It's a Riley/Stanley one today, and I don't know how you guys feel about that since she's not a real Lorien Legacies character, but I figured I'd give it a try. I think most of the people that read this read my other story anyway so at least I know most of you like the pairing.**

 **Just a warning, this one-shot contains mature themes (sex). There is not anything detailed and definitely not anything close to being rated M, but I thought I'd give you a little heads up just in case :)**

 **Anyway, read on!**

* * *

It happened on a Tuesday night, which was weird because nothing important ever happened on a Tuesday.

But on this Tuesday, that was as boring and uneventful and dry and common as any other Tuesday, he went to party. He wasn't quite sure _why_ someone would throw a party in the middle of the week, or why he would even go to a party in the middle of the week, but it was whatever, he was there.

It didn't happen like in the movies. Their eyes didn't meet across a crowded room, there wasn't an electrical charge in the air or butterflies in his stomach or any other stupid reaction to meeting someone that only ever occurred in movies and Nicholas Sparks novels. _No_.

He bumped into her (like literally almost knocked her over like an idiot) on his way in through the door. They looked at each other, said a few words, and then were both gone. Anticlimactic? Maybe. But it was a Tuesday, and nothing interesting ever happened on a Tuesday.

. . .

So maybe it didn't happen on a Tuesday. Maybe it happened on a Saturday. The Saturday that followed the Tuesday.

He was at another party at the same place, but this time it involved more alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol actually. So much alcohol that when he staggered over to a girl leaned on a wall at the some ungodly hour with a fuzzy brain, he failed to remember _exactly_ how they had met before, on that boring Tuesday that seemed like forever ago.

It didn't matter, she didn't remember either, because the stuff in her cup had a way of making someone forget boring things that happened in the middle of the week. He tried a couple of lines, starting with getting her name.

Her name was Riley; a nice name, but like most, it didn't stand out. That didn't matter either, because it wasn't like he was looking for anything special. And she didn't seem like she was, not like it was a bad thing or anything. She was pretty with brown hair and a sloppy grin that was identical to every other intoxicated grin in the place. She didn't stand out, but he didn't either. Perhaps they made a good match.

They found out later just exactly how good a match they were when they left the party behind and stumbled down the hall, lips locked together, the unbalanced push and pull of a hurried drunken trek. His dorm room was only a few doors down from the party, but it took them an embarrassing amount of time to get there.

Neither of them cared about the speed though, because when they got there, and he pushed her up against the wooden door as he struggled to get his key out of his pocket, that was when he felt it. It was a crazy, lightheaded, longing feeling that when mixed with a lot of beer, made the perfect combination. He knew from experience.

He made a faster effort to get out his key as her hands ran through his hair. Then she had suddenly pulled back, and even though his lips gave chase the second they lost contact, her panting words stopped him.

"Your hair..." she gave a soft tug on the dark locks for emphasis as she caught her breath, "it's too long."

He had just looked at her then, the click of a lock barely heard over their breathing, heavy from the strenuous trip down the hall. "I think yours is too long."

"You didn't seem to mind a couple minutes ago."

They were so close still, lips almost touching, breaths mingling. Then he let out a low chuckle.

"Oh, I don't mind." With no warning but a wink, he hoisted her up quick enough for her to let out something between a squeal and a giggle before he muffled the sound with his lips. It wasn't a kiss as much as it was just pressing his own grin against hers, but just for a moment, he felt something other than lust and longing. It felt electric.

She hooked her legs around his hips and ran her fingers through his hair while he used one arm to keep her up, pushing the door open with his foot. The dorm was dark when they entered, but neither of them seemed to mind when the door shut again, blocking out the light of the hallway, the shadows in the room only interrupted by the faint glow of a streetlight through thin curtains. His grip loosened as he lowered her gently to the ground. Sliding his hands up her body, he put his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavy.

His fingers tangled through her hair and he smirked. "Sweetheart, I really don't mind at all." Their lips met again, the buzz of energy between them melding into one.

They stumbled towards the bed.

And maybe, that might have been the beginning, but not when it happened.

. . .

Maybe it happened the morning after that, when he woke up, tangled blankets covering his midsection, to one of his many under-utilized textbooks careening into the wall at 8:48 AM. He quickly figured out it was her who did it, her who was awake far before noon on a Sunday and trying—morbidly unsuccessfully—to make a quiet exit from the room. He watched her for a few moments, already halfway dressed but missing a shirt, as she muttered something under breath. Her right foot hovered a few inches above the floor before she gingerly placed it down again. He realized the flying book phenomenon might have had something to do with a rushed exit. Before he could think about much of anything, she was moving on again, probably to look for whatever article of clothing that covered her upper body last night. He couldn't remember.

He also didn't plan to let her know he was awake. But she started walking slower after that, moving with unnaturally careful steps and keeping her eyes trained on the floor, and he couldn't help the chuckle that surfaced.

Then there was a moment, only a small one, and for a brief period of time, when her head swivelled around in surprise, an expression on her features that only ever adorned the faces of children when they were caught doing something they weren't supposed to be doing. Then she huffed out a laugh with an apology, and it probably shouldn't have made him feel so... well, he didn't know. But the feeling was there, even if just for a moment.

"What'd my religion book do to you, babe?" He asked with a smirk.

"Uh, nothing." She, _Riley_ , glanced in the direction of what was probably wall damage from the book. "It was your math book, so..."

She went back to whatever search she was holding with a tight smile. But he was kind of an expert at this kind of stuff (not that he had hordes of women at his disposal at all times or anything), so he continued with a comment about the book was probably on the floor because it was useless.

Most people would agree with him. After all, they were all students who struggled with the same stuff. But this girl froze for a moment, hand outstretched to grab a piece of clothing in the corner of the room.

"Math 1001 isn't useless." Her stilled arm seemed to have found motion again after the statement, picking up a navy sweater that she had yet to find out wasn't hers. "It's the fundamentals of calculus. A building block." She wasn't paying attention to her actions as she held up the large hoodie, obviously too focused on her words.

"Is there a reason you're holding my sweater, Sweatheart?"

Her fingers sprung apart immediately, and she even took a step back like it burnt her or something. There was a sigh and fingers racking through messy hair. "I thought it was mine." She clicked her tongue, looking lost. "But I think I lost it."

His eyes followed her movements as she went around the room, getting consistently faster as the seconds passed until it was hard for him to watch.

"You know you could just take the sweater right?" Her neck swivelled from where she was crouching on the floor, eyebrows raised in the definition of the 'really?' expression. He winked. "Besides, I could just take it off you again later."

The comment didn't strike anything weird; a nerve, disgust, creepy feelings. No. She laughed and he watched from the bed, grinning as she held the article of clothing (which was about twenty three sizes too big) in front of her body, striking a pose and waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

And it was at that exact moment that he really should have known that this girl wasn't normal, that she wasn't just a face in the crowd or another drunk grin.

But because he was stupid (or maybe because he didn't want to acknowledge anything), he layed there in blissful ignorance as she went over whatever plan she had to get his sweater back to him as she shoved the clothing on without question. To justify her borrowing his sweater, she explained how she was in a rush to grade some papers, or do whatever TA's do.

After using the mouthwash, tying her hair in what he thought was supposed to be a bun and shoving on her sneakers, a quick wave was her last farewell before opening the door and stepping out.

Then he just looked up at the ceiling with a stupid grin spreading across his face, and he didn't know why.

He heard the twist of a doorknob and then the door cracked open again, Riley's face appearing in the opening.

"I didn't get your name." There was a laugh at the end of her sentence, and he loved the way it sounded.

"Stanley." He replied.

"Well," she nodded, tapped once on the door and smiled, "it was really really nice to meet you, Stanley."

When she left that time, it was for good. But he kind of hoped it wasn't.

. . .

She came back. Not for anything kissing related (which he thought was a bummer), but just to return his sweater.

"It's washed and everything." Were the first words that came out of her mouth when he opened the door, like she didn't want him to think for even a second that she would return it in any worse condition than she found it.

He smirked, not yet taking the sweater from her. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Not for this type of thing." She assured.

"Oh, I see." He nodded and watched after a second of silence as she looked at the sweater in her hand, and then back at him, her eyebrows furrowed in innocent confusion. He arched an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth slowly started to tug up in a smile.

"Um, hi?"

He grinned and took the sweater from her, obviously pleased. "Hello to you too." She rolled her eyes and he couldn't help but find it cute. Feeling bold, he stepped forward until he was standing in the doorway, and then casually (very casual), he leaned his shoulder into the doorframe, hands partially disappearing into jean pockets. "You know, Riley," he liked saying her name, "after you left, I got to thinking about things."

Her lips easily twitched into a half smile, which he thought might have been meant to be coy, but it just looked too innocent to be that. Although he knew that wasn't true. " _Things_ huh?" The fact that she made a visible effort to keep back her giggle at the end of the comment, and then letting it escape anyway might have made it a bit more endearing. That's what he blamed the pull in his stomach on anyway. "What kind of things?"

"Things that have to do with what we did last night." His head tilted so it leaned casually (really, so casual) against the doorframe. "Maybe a repetition."

Her eyebrows shot up and he had a feeling she was holding back on reminding him that the event he was referring to was actually very early that morning, and she tilted her head as though copying him. But she was bad at hiding her smiles, and he was looking close enough to know she had one, a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth. "So, like... do you mean right now?"

Feigning surprise for a moment, he shrugged his shoulders. "Wow, I didn't expect you to move so fast, Riley. But I guess if you really want to..."

She was only able to school her features into a deadpan for less than a second before she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, obviously trying to tone down any amusement she felt. It didn't work. He watched her glance up and down the hall, as though checking for any spectators before she (not as casually as him) took a step forward.

He leaned down slowly and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn't like last night, all hurried and rough with only one thing on their minds. This started off hesitant, until it turned gentle and slow, the energy building as their mouths continued to move and hands coming to rest on waists and the back of necks. No, it wasn't like last night. This was a _kiss_.

Just as his feet started moving backwards, she suddenly pulled away, much like she did the night before, but this time she didn't look like she was going to comment on the length of his hair. "I have a class in the morning." She said instead.

His chuckle came as a quiet huff of air. The hand that was cupping the back of her neck slid down to grip on her hip, gently pulling her closer until their lips brushed as he spoke. "Okay."

Her eyes closed as she debated something in her head, fingers tapping an unknown rhythm against his chest. " And I really need to go to it." The sentence was flimsy, holding none of the certainty her words would imply.

He felt his smile getting wider. "Okay." The word was quieter this time, making her look up, pressing her lips together when she saw his stupid smile.

"You-" she shook her head, a grin suddenly spreading across her face that looked like laughter would follow. "Stop looking at me like... ugh, _that_. I'm trying to think..."

The sentence made him laugh, although he was pretty sure that's not what she meant when she told him to look at her differently. Her eyes darted around, looking down the hall, at the floor, above him, and then finally, reluctantly, met his gaze.

"I can't stay long."

He smirked at her, only because he knew he'd get a badly stifled grin in response. He wasn't disappointed. "Don't worry, it won't _take_ long."

Lips twisted in an effort hold in a laugh, she gave his chest an encouraging push so he stumbled backwards into the room. She walked in after her him, standing on her toes to press her lips to his.

She closed the door with her heel.

. . .

So, maybe it didn't happen the first or second time they did it. Maybe it wasn't pinpointed to any particular time at all. Maybe it happened a little bit at a time, every time after that.

Because, as it worked out, they kind of had a friends with benefits thing going on.

It wasn't really a spoken thing. It didn't need to be. They both knew what a text from the other meant, and it wasn't feelings. Sometimes they got together to push away the thoughts of a stressful day, or sometimes it was a distraction from studying, or sometimes, (admittedly) most times, it was just for fun.

There wasn't any pressure in the relationship, it was just there, full and beautiful and unashamed. He had to admit, it almost seemed too good to be true. Most girls after this point seemed to be chasing down a relationship, but somehow they were both on the same page. They didn't even talk about the idea of a romantic thing, ever. And it wasn't fear, or lingering feelings or or any other reason two people might choose to ignore a growing passion. They were just happy, doing what they were doing. And it was great. It was... fun.

She was late sometimes, but he didn't mind. She did, after all, face a much busier school life with tougher classes and being a TA. But he also liked it on these particular nights, when there would be a knock on his door exactly one hour after she sent him a message that should be late (it was always by an hour). And then when he would open the door, there was no greeting, no smile, no 'how was your day?'. The moment the door swung open, she would put her hands on the sides of his face, stand on her toes, and pull his mouth to hers without a word.

He would always ask her what happened, but she would always say something like "I was working on some notes" or "a student wanted a tutor session and I couldn't say no". Then, always, she would mumble a 'sorry' against his mouth when she really didn't need to be, and although his concern wouldn't completely go away, she was good at making him forget.

But on this particular night, he hadn't noticed it was fifty-nine minutes since Riley's 'I'm going to be late :(' text, because—strangely—he had his own set of problems. Even so, when he heard the knock, he didn't hesitate to open the door, and this time his hands were gripping her waist before she could even touch him, his lips pressing against hers with more roughness than they have in a while. He didn't give her time to be react before he picked her up, his heart jumping at her surprised squeak.

When he set her down in the room, hands disappearing under the hem of her shirt, she pulled back and looked into his eyes, concern in her gaze. When he tried to lean in again she put a hand on his chest, pushing him back. It wasn't a hard push, but it still felt like rejection. He was suddenly struck by fear. Fear that she would say this whole 'fun' thing wasn't working out anymore.

"Um, not that I don't appreciate the gesture or anything, but..." she was smiling, although her eyebrows were tugged in, like she wanted to ask a question but couldn't find where to start.

"I'm fine, Sweetheart." He assured.

Her raised eyebrows told him that she didn't believe him and he suddenly pondered—with no small amount of nervousness—when she got so good at reading him, when they got so good at reading each other. Because if he was being honest with himself, he was 99% sure he knew the meaning and cause behind at least half of her expressions by now, and she had a lot of them. He wasn't sure what was more jarring, the fact that she could see through him or the other fact that she cared enough to want to know the reason behind what she saw.

"Are you sure? Because if there's something-"

"Hey, I'm fine." Warm skin met his fingers as he slipped his hands under her hoodie once more, and he grinned for reassurance. It didn't work, but he knew he could get her on board. He pulled her body flush to his, lips next to her ear when he spoke quietly. "Much better now that you're here."

He knew the giggle that the comment would elicit even before it came, but it still brought a grin to his face anyway, especially when he heard her mutter the expected "idiot" under her breath.

Slowly, but surely, they went back to kissing and the start of other things. He almost had her shirt off when he turned and started backing her toward the bed. Until she, once again, pulled away with furrowed eyebrows, and he groaned because if he saw that look one more time tonight he would... well, he didn't know how he'd deal with it, but something would have to be done.

She was looking over his shoulder this time though. "What's all that stuff on your table?"

A sigh met her question, because the word 'stuff' was really too general to be applied to the mass of papers that only succeeded in confusing him. "It's nothing."

But she was already walking toward the table, straightening her shirt before standing over the papers with a studious look. All of the drama in the world must have been mustered into his sigh as he flopped back onto his bed, waiting for the reaction he knew was coming. He counted one second... two...

"Oh my God." He could hear the grin in her voice and he cringed at the ceiling. "Oh my God!" When he looked at her, she was holding up one of the worksheets he had given up on long ago, and she was beaming. Positively beaming. "You were doing calculus."

"Yeah, But-"

"The most useless class, apparently." She interrupted, her grin lessening until all that was left was a knowing smirk.

It wasn't unlike the one that usually adorned his face, although hers was lopsided, whereas his had long been perfected from tireless work in the subject area during his high school and university experience. The expression on her looked too excited to be completely cocky. It looked too... her.

She began waving the sheet of paper around. "But alas, here it is, in your dorm room and-" she took a quick look at the front page, raising an eyebrow, "partially completed..."

The sound of flipping paper registered in his ear before he saw her turn the page, but he was already up, holding out his hand as he took a a step toward her, suddenly fearing she would judge him for his terrible work. "And that's enough of _that_." He tried to grab for it, but she moved it out of the way.

"I'm not done looking at it." She laughed, retreating from his attempts to take away the assignment with strangely graceful steps. Another page turned. Another failed grab. "And some of it is even right. _Wow_."

And then he thought that while she came here to have a different kind of fun, this was fun too. It was way more of an innocent kind of fun, like a game of tag or... something else kids play. But he couldn't help the smile on his face, even if he was afraid of her opinions on his work. For a minute, it was like they were good friends instead of two people that weren't supposed to get close to each other.

Continuing her analysis of the paper, and looking up at him with a stupidly giddy smile as he lunged again, she flipped the page back to the first one. "Well, I have to say, I'm impressed, Mr..." Squinting at the page, her footsteps faltered, smile lessening as he assumed she might have found the name. He used her distraction and snatched the paper from her grasp. She looked up at him. "Worthington?"

"That would be me." He muttered, tossing the assignment back to the table with an excess amount of force to really play up his feigned annoyance. He suddenly realized how weird it was that she didn't know his last name until now. He knew hers, except it was only by accident when he saw one of her students text her.

Only after spending a few seconds staring with malice at the crumpled paper of perpetual difficulty, he finally turned back to his visitor, who was still standing in the same spot, a look of growing amusement spreading across her face.

"Really? _You're_ Stanley Worthington?"

The way she asked it made him want to say that he had no idea who that guy was, because while, sure, she looked like she wanted to laugh, she certainly wasn't impressed. But he nodded anyway, because it was right there on the paper and he couldn't really find a lie that would warrant putting the wrong last name on an assignment.

"You know, I was just complaining about you the other day." His eyebrows shot up, clearly offended, but she carried on anyway, pointing a finger at him. "You have not handed in a single assignment this term, not showed up for one test—actually, you've never even showed up to a class! Not one!"

His eyes were wide, shocked because, well, _yeah_ it was true (he had only got his hands on this assignment because one of his friends gave it to him), but how would she even have this information? He blinked at her for a moment, trying to order his thoughts. Finally, he chose to settle on an indignant, "What?".

She laughed. "Stanley, I'm the TA for your math class."

Then he understood, actually stepping back in shock. He took a breath in because things were not supposed to become complicated, and while this may not have seemed like a huge bombshell, any interaction between them that wasn't the interaction behind his room door made things at least a little more complex.

"Why don't you come to class, Stanley?" She asked, approaching the table and picking up the paper again. She flipped it in her hand and pointed it at him. "Some of these answers are right, which is kind of miracle considering your attendance." A quiet laugh lead into her next sentence. "Or should I say lack thereof?"

"Well I looked at a few YouTube videos and got that done." He admitted, not wanting too much credit, even though she was more than ready to give it to him. "But I can't understand the rest. It's like a different language, it's just not... my thing, you know?"

Riley chuckled, tapping the paper a couple times and leaning her hip against the table. "Yeah, I do know. I also know that I'm your TA." Her eyebrows raised smugly. "I tutor people all the time. I can help you."

She was insistent, and she was talking in a way she hadn't before. It wasn't flirty or suggestive, it was genuine. And it might've scared him a bit to see the hopeful expression on her face, because they weren't supposed to say things that weren't stupid and hollow, and they weren't supposed to do things that didn't involve a bed.

But he was learning that it was hard to say no to her. Incredibly hard.

So he shrugged nonchalantly, effectively ignoring the distant voice in the back of his head that warned him of the complications that might come from such an agreement.

"Sure." He said. His heart might have skipped a tiny bit at her grin, but that was a worry for another day.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Let's do this, Miss Pierce."

. . .

So things might've gotten complicated after that. It wasn't a big kind of complicated. It was actually a very small (almost inconceivable) complication that went by almost beautifully unnoticed by both of them.

Because now they spent time together outside of his room, learning math. And now he actually went to math class, and _almost_ learned math. But that wasn't the complication. The complicated part came in when he found out that the time he spent looking at board in his math class was nothing compared to the time he spent staring into the distance. And that's why it went unnoticed for a long time. Blissfully unnoticed until one day, when he was staring blankly at the same spot he always stared at, the desk that was always buried in papers when prof whatever-his-name-is was teaching. And it was on that day, that fateful day, when his eyes met brown ones, the same brown eyes that were always absorbed in the grading of papers at that very desk. The eyes of the class's TA, who always sat in that very spot where his eyes wandered. _Every_ class.

And that probably wouldn't have alarmed either of them, because it was no surprise that his gaze tended to gravitate toward her when they were together. What alarmed him was the way his heart jumped, the way his eyes darted away to the random numbers on the board because he felt like he had been caught. _Caught_. That's when he started to get concerned, because 'caught' implied that he had never intended for her to notice, and nowhere in the history of all time had Stanley Worthington never wanted a woman to notice him staring.

But he let it go. Because she didn't mention it, and neither did he. They just continued what they were doing; sex, with the addition of a little tutoring. That was it. Nothing was happening. _Totally_ uncomplicated.

. . .

And that totally uncomplicated, beautifully great thing they were doing might have become a _little_ more complicated after one specific incident involving one of them falling victim to the flu season. But like last time, it was just by a little. A little (slightly less inconceivable) complication that went a little more noticed by both of them.

Because they had an unspoken rule, a rule that stated they would not be together except only for sex and tutoring. The two would not cross, and nothing would be added to the list. The rule worked. It worked so perfectly actually that they went like this all the way into the next month.

And it was in this perfect month when Riley went outside with her hair wet without a hat on, in the night, in just a t-shirt and jeans to go to the library. And it was November. A seemingly small mistake, but it caused quite a glitch in their rule, the rule that stated they could not see each other outside of their late night and tutoring endeavours. It caused a falter in the rule because this seemingly small mistake caused Riley to catch a cold.

And it wasn't like he had paced his room bare for thirty minutes—more like an hour—while trying to decide how much a hand delivery of a pack of cough drops could single handedly send their casual relationship into ruins (because that would be stupid). And it's not like his mind was going into overload when he also picked up the brand of chocolate bar he knew was her favourite, to go along with the minty halls (because she hated the stupid fruit ones). But maybe, just maybe, when he knocked on her door that evening with the—totally not meticulously planned—delivery of the items and a laptop under his arm, his hand might've been shaking. Just the tiniest amount.

It was only apparent when the door swung open that he should have planned something. Because she was standing there in pyjama bottoms and a large t-shirt that had the periodic table of elements printed on it, and the only thing he was wearing was a coat, jeans and a scary amount of cough drops.

"Stanley?" Her eyes were watering and her nose was red, her voice scratchy. "What are you doing here?" She leaned forward and looked up and down the hall, as though checking for spectators

He thought her response was probably the most normal it could have been considering the circumstances, so he tried to make his response normal. So normal.

"I, um- I felt bad about you being sick, so I brought some..." he clicked his tongue, nearly lost for words, "stuff, for you." He wasn't one to ramble usually, but his words came before he had a chance to think. "It's not much, just some cough drops. The mint kind because I know you don't like the other ones. And I got you a bar, although I don't know if you'll really be able to taste it, but it's your favourite so-"

"Stanley," she was smiling, almost teasing, although somehow he knew she wasn't about to make fun of him, "thank you."

He shrugged and passed her the plastic bag of items, trying not to make a big deal out of it, like he usually just brings all of his casual fun partners a bag of carefully selected cold remedies (he never had until now).

"Well, yeah. It's nothing, so..." with a tight smile, he trailed off and backed up, turning away as fast as he could.

"Wait, what's that?" Her voice stopped him and it took him a minute to realize she was looking at his laptop. He was struck by embarrassment because he was stupid to think a girl who was feeling that crappy would want to even spend a little bit of time with a person she barely _really_ knew, even if it was just for the length of a movie.

He cleared his throat and turned, avoiding her gaze. "My laptop." He swung the device once in a hurried gesture before letting his arm stop at his side again. "Um, I was going to- you know, I was thinking that we could... uh..." he shook his head, "nevermind. It's stupid. Have a nice night." And then he started walking again, as fast as he could because it _was_ stupid. It was stupid to think she might've wanted to stray from the rule. Because she made sense and she was logical, and it had never been more apparent until now how opposite they were.

"Stanley, wait."

He wanted to keep walking, but it was her and _God_ , he really needed to work on his inability to say no to her. So he turned again, only halfway, ready to continue his escape again at a moments notice.

Riley shifted on her feet for a second, her open mouth remaining sound-free for a few moments, and Stanley started to think that maybe he wasn't the only one who didn't know what to say. Eventually though, her creaking voice came, accompanied with a shy smile. It was a smile that told him she knew exactly why he brought the computer.

"Is there Netflix on that laptop?"

. . .

So maybe they added movie nights to their little agreement. It wasn't a bad thing, not at all. It just meant they spent more time together, which wasn't really that different from before except for the fact that now they had their clothes on for most of that time.

In fact, maybe he should have been concerned that the events of their original agreement had seriously been starting to dwindle, replaced by math books and episodes of Greys Anatomy (which he would totally _never_ get into).

And that's when he started to think that maybe this 'happening a little at a time' theory was more than slightly incorrect. He started to think that maybe it only truly started happening in these times they spent together, the laptop on his lap and her head on his shoulder. Sometimes they'd get tired of being in the same positions and morph into a tangle of bodies that they somehow deemed comfortable, or sometimes they wouldn't even watch the movie or show, just letting it play in the background of flowing conversation that was never about anything important. Because they weren't supposed to talk about important stuff.

And those conversations were the type of ones they always had. Nothing heavy, just casual teasing and stupid topics. They were the type of conversations about nothing that made him feel like they were more than just a 'benefit' to one another.

But then, he was pretty sure they might be boarding on the edge of that 'benefit' territory anyway. Because benefits didn't make him get an above average mark in math, and benefits didn't turn down dates with other girls because it felt wrong, and benefits _certainly_ did not cuddle on a single bed and binge watch episodes of a stupid medical drama. Frankly, benefits didn't spend as much time together with clothes on as they did.

But he didn't want to let it go, and he didn't want to make it complicated. So he let himself be persuaded into watching "just one more episode", and eating popcorn and making jokes and playing with her hair until she fell asleep on his shoulder.

Because screw it. They'd redefine 'benefits'.

. . .

This redefining process, he soon found, just meant gradually including some new things in the arrangement. They weren't a bad type of new, just a type of new that neither of them saw coming, but once it came, felt completely natural.

It started with meeting up after class. And it wasn't like this was new thing, because technically any time in the night was after class. They just started seeing each other _right_ after class. In the day. In public.

And that was fine because usually it was just for coffee, or in Riley's case (unless she was exceptionally tired), hot chocolate. So he quickly decided that _that_ wasn't a big deal, because he liked coffee and he liked her, and he really didn't see anything wrong with the two of them together.

But then that one activity (that one innocent activity) may have provided encouragement for a few other… _things_ to arise. Things that caused the—ever distant—alarms in his head to ring slightly louder, but not loud enough to be incapable of ignoring. Because ignoring them was working. Ignoring them was a good thing because ignoring them meant he still had her.

He became good at ignoring the alarms. Like one night when she came over, and like many nights before, they ended up with lungs that were short for air and limbs tangled under a mess of sheets. But unlike many nights before, when Riley went to leave, he heard words come out of his mouth that were different than the usual, "See you tomorrow" or the teasing "leaving so soon?".

He had said four words this time, not knowing they were coming until they were out.

"Why don't you stay?"

She'd looked over her shoulder at him as she played with the hem of the t-shirt she had just slipped on. It was his. "As in the night?" Her question was hesitant, his request obviously surprising both of them.

And despite the nervousness inside him, he just shrugged, propping himself up on an elbow. "Yeah. I mean it's eleven thirty and you don't have a class tomorrow morning. You're already here anyway."

He hoped his reasoning was enough to avoid any questions, and his heart nearly stopped when she didn't say anything for the three seconds (yes, he counted) in the moments that followed. But then she let out a hum of thought that he just knew was a playful agreement and he grinned as he pulled her to him again.

So yeah. That became a thing.

And after a few sleepovers, it even became normal, comforting. Then after that came the mornings where she had to leave early to get to a class, and even though he should've been getting up with her, he just held onto her as long as he could. She would always put up a fight (if mumbling tiredly and halfhearted orders to let her up qualified as a fight). Eventually though, when he knew she'd be late if she stayed any longer, he would remind her of the time. The speed at which she would get up would astonish him every time, even though it shouldn't have, because he knew how much she hated being late.

Yet another thing that started happening was that they would kind of just show up to each others dorms... randomly... unannounced. And he didn't exactly know _when_ that started, because coffee dates and sleepovers were still new, but somehow a few random knocks on the door at strange hours in the night flew by unnoticed. It was fine. After all, he did it to her too. Sometimes he showed up with a laptop and a bag of snacks, sometimes with a last minute math problem, or sometimes—after a particularly long day—with a weird feeling of longing that disappeared the moment her face lit up when she opened the door. She was good at that; making everything feel okay.

On one particular night, when he showed up unannounced, it was a last minute math question night because logarithmic derivatives were kicking his ass and YouTube wasn't doing a good enough explanation. All annoyance was replaced with concern when the door swung open and he saw the strain in her smile.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." Before he could say anything more, she gave his hand a tug and he followed her into the slightly messy room. He looked for anything amiss, but all he found was a stack of papers on her small desk and an open book next to it that she immediately gave her attention to after closing the door. "You can stay, but I have to study for an exam." She made a gesture towards the bed, which he noticed was also covered in stray papers. He didn't sit down.

"Riley, it's eleven in the night. Shouldn't you be gone to bed if you have an exam?"

"Yeah..." She strung out the word, looking over her shoulder with a guilty smile. It didn't reach her eyes.

"How long have you been studying?"

"Since this afternoon."

He inwardly sighed. She was like this sometimes. Stressing herself out over things that she already knew, convincing herself that there was more to learn even when there wasn't. And of course she already knew it. The girl was an education junkie with a memory that reminded him of a computer hard drive. She could probably recite that textbook word for word if he asked her to.

"Alright, this is ridiculous." She didn't react to his words, even when he placed his notes down and walked up behind her to where she had abandoned her chair in favour of standing and staring down at the book with blank eyes. Images and diagrams he couldn't comprehend decorated the pages. "What is this anyway?"

"Third year biochemistry."

He didn't even _want_ to understand what was in the book. Instead, he voiced his opinion with a flat, "Why?"

It got a laugh out of her, or really more of a huff of air, but still. "Because." She answered simply.

"Well, you need to stop."

"I need to read over this chapter."

"C'mon, Riley..." He put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles. She relaxed slightly under his fingers and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck as he mumbled, "I know you already know it."

He couldn't help the grin on his face when she bunched up her shoulders with a soft squeak. Although when she turned her head to escape the contact, he saw her smile was gone nearly as quickly as it came.

"What if I don't?" She asked. He gave her shoulders another squeeze, but it didn't seem to help. His hands followed her as she braced her palms on the edge of her desk and leaned into them, head hanging down to continue reading the pages. "What if I go into the exam and half of it is based off the one thing I didn't read?"

"First of all, that's not going to happen." He said easily. He might have stifled his amusement at her worry if she didn't have her back turned. But she couldn't see him right now, so he let a smile inch across his face as he continued kneading her shoulders. "Second, you've read everything."

"How do you know?"

This time he let a a chuckle creep into his voice. "Because I know _you_ , Riley." Her only response came as a stubborn sigh and the shake of her head. He leaned in again. "Come on. You need to sleep."

His hands took a new course, down over her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the oversized NASA t-shirt (yes, she was that big of a nerd) she was wearing. He swore he could feel her relaxing more as he worked his way back up. "I can't." She said anyway.

"You can." He insisted. The seconds ticked by without a response. "Riley?" His hands stopped moving as though it would implore her to answer. It didn't. Instead, it just seemed to provide encouragement for her to shift so more weight was leaned on her hands, signifying that she wouldn't be moved.

"Okay then." He sighed, but he wasn't done trying. She was stressed, and she _would_ take a break, whether she wanted to or not. His hands moved down again. Slow, just like before, except now he was kind of feeling like being a bit of an asshole.

When he wiggled his fingers into her ribs her yelp was instant, along with her arms clamping down to protect her sides. " _Don't_." She ordered, but there was the hint of a laugh in there, badly hidden under a stern tone.

"Hm?" He didn't stop. "Don't what?"

"Oh my _God_." There was a clear giggle threaded through her whine as she attempted to turn around to better defend herself. He quickly wrapped an arm around her to stop her progress and pulled her tight to his chest, grinning when she squealed as his hand moved down to tickle an unprotected area on her side. "No! Stan- stop!" She couldn't cease her chain of laughter long enough to get the words out so it all ended up being blended together. "This is so unfair!"

And he had known for a while now that her laugh was just as infectious as her grin, but even he was shocked to find how easy his own chuckles came, threading through his words. "What? I can't hear you."

She sunk a little in his arms, apparently laughing too hard to focus of standing. The last coherent words she could get out sounded something like "you asshole" before she gave up on trying to form sentences all together.

It didn't take long after that for him to pull her away from the course book with little resistance other than her struggle to escape his fingers. The back of his knees hit the bed and he let go of her as they both fell messily onto the mattress, their landing announced by the crinkling of papers he assumed had been thrown there after being deemed useless in her study routine.

He laughed when she immediately rolled away from him, red-faced and breathing heavy. She ended up near the corner of the bed, sitting with her feet tucked under her and clutching a pillow for protection. He was done now though, having achieved his goal of de-stressing her enough for her smile to come back. So he just looked at her, still lying on his back, with what could be described as his cheesiest grin. The expression was reserved only for moments like this. With her.

"Your laugh is cute." He said.

She blinked and shook her head, lips parted and eyes wide in an expression of shocked betrayal. "Thanks." Her voice was the flattest he'd ever heard it. He burst out laughing again at the contrast from just a moment ago and watched her drop her red face into her hand, covering her eyes as she let out a grin. "I _hate_ you."

"No you don't." He rolled over and arched an eyebrow at her. She sat back so her knees were now in front her, back against the wall to put more space between them, although it still wasn't much. It was only a twin mattress after all.

"I do." She insisted.

He just shook his head with a grin, because he knew her, and he knew the way she looked at things she hated. It was a narrowed-eyed, pinched in eyebrows, pursed lips, ridiculously cute look that was only ever directed at english papers and celery. The way she looked at him now was most certainly _not_ that look.

She was trying to be serious, but her lips were twisted to keep in a laugh. Her eyes were dancing.

"You love me." He said teasingly.

He didn't know what he expected. Probably for her to deny it, or wrinkle her nose or shake her head. She didn't.

So there's a good chance that maybe it happened then, when she let out a soft sigh and a gentle smile and a whispered "yeah", all right before his eyes. Alarm bells started ringing in his head. Loud ones. But he wrote off the moment as a mistake. It was his fault anyway. They weren't supposed to talk about the L-word.

"Anyway, you win." She said eventually. She started collecting the now crumpled sheets of paper casually, like she didn't just send his entire mind into a state of static. "I'll go to bed. I promise. You can leave." He let out a teasingly long hum of thought before shaking his head in refusal. Her eyebrows shot up, and she gave him a weird look as she put the paper at the foot of the bed. "What do you mean, _no?"_

"You see, Riley..." He pulled the rest of his body onto the bed and stretched out across the mattress, noting with a warm feeling in his chest that she was biting her lip to surpress a grin. He laid on his back, folded his hands behind his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, "...I don't trust you."

"So... you're just going to stay here?"

"That's the plan." She looked at him for a long moment. He looked back with raised eyebrows and patted the tiny amount of space left beside him. "Make yourself comfortable."

She rolled her eyes and cautiously passed him the pillow, which he put under his head without waiting for her permission. "Alright, I will." She said, although completely did the opposite of her statement when she slowly started scooting down to the foot of the bed. He arched an eyebrow at the suspicious movement. She avoided his eyes. "... I'm _just_ gonna grab my book-" Her lunge to get off the bed probably would've been fast enough if he hadn't known she was up to something.

"Oh no you don't." In less than a second he had sat up, wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled the stubborn girl back with a grin. She was already giggling through her protests as he shook his head at her. "You really asked for it, Pierce."

Peals of laughter filled the small room again, and Stanley forgot why he even came over.

. . .

Looking at it from the outside, he thought the whole situation was a little strange. They weren't even together just for fun now. Sure, yes, he couldn't deny that they had fun. A _lot_ of it. But somehow during the past few months, their focus had shifted far from just a good time. They were beginning to look like a couple. Two people who worked together and had habits together and looked to the other for support.

Still, even with all the glaring evidence, he hadn't noticed anything amiss until one morning when Riley was leaving in a rush. He watched her from the bed as she collected her things feverishly, muttering things to herself like she always did when the fear of being late kicked in. And then, when she had collected all of her stuff and was ready to go out the door, he sat expectantly on the edge of the bed and she gave him a quick kiss before she left.

But it wasn't _really_ a kiss. It was a peck on the lips. The kind of quick, absentminded show of affection only displayed by married couples on busy mornings. And that's when he realized they did it every time she slept over, and every time she came back. In fact, they did it a lot.

So maybe that's when it happened. When he realized that he had actually developed habits and likes and dislikes that revolved around this one girl. Because that was something that had never happened before. It was something that he had never stuck around long enough to let happen before. But he kind of liked it.

And besides, what was the worst that could happen?

. . .

They continued, falling seamlessly into each others daily schedules like a puzzle piece you didn't expect to fit at first, but then made the whole image come together. Yet, he still had a feeling. It was a sinking, anxious, pins-and-needles feeling, because he had learned in life that nothing good can last forever. It was true, everything enjoyable had to meet an end sometime; movies, bikes that rust, food, parties, childhood. And the thing was, he found when these things came to their finish, the good times left a bittersweet hurt in its wake when it was gone. Like a hangover.

So maybe that's why he was anxious. Because Riley and him have been having fun for a very long time. It was only logical that it would come to an end soon. But if he knew one thing, it's that he really didn't want the hangover part.

And he didn't really understand it, because things were going so well. Unbelievably well that when an understanding finally came to him, he was shocked, even though he shouldn't have been. Because bikes rust and fires burn out and movies end and nothing good lasts forever. He knew that.

The understanding came after one of his math 1000 lectures. Riley usually had quite the line in front of the desk after class, due to the fact that all of the students felt more comfortable asking questions to her than they ever would asking Professor Resurrected-from-the-dead (a name that made Riley hold back a laugh as she chided Stanley for saying it). He never had any questions for her, but he would wait in line anyway and ask if their tutoring session for tonight was still on, even though sometimes their intentions would be far from calculus, like it was tonight. It was stupid, but he liked watching her try to talk to him like she talked to everyone else. Also, a more immature part of his brain had decided far before this that 'professional Riley' was hot.

But on this day, as he moved up in line so there was only one more person between him and a forced business-like act, he heard the guy in front of him ask a question that made his blood run cold.

"Do you want to go for a coffee later?"

And that particular moment was when the result of this 'redefining' business hit him like a brick. Because friends with benefits were not supposed to feel jealousy, but he felt it. Strong, boiling-up-in-the-pit-of-his-stomach, pure jealousy. All because of a coffee.

But he watched anyway as Riley, hilariously oblivious, smiled in that welcoming way she always did to her students. "Well, usually we study in the library, but if you'd rather we do it at the coffee place then it may be a nice change of scenery." She furrowed her eyebrows and flipped a page in a binder that he knew held her schedule. "Although, I can't remember booking a study session for you today, Cody. I could try and squeeze you in though. How does seven thirty-"

"I wasn't talking about studying." Stanley clenched his jaw. Please don't say it. "I was actually asking you out. If you're up for it."

It was like a million things came crashing down on him at once and his head felt clouded. He could hardly believe it. He could hardly keep himself from stomping from the lecture hall and slamming the door behind him like an angry preteen throwing a tantrum.

"Oh, I'm sorry but I can't."

 _That_ made everything pause again for a moment. He looked up just as her eyes caught his, but she looked away instantly.

Cody nodded, seeming to almost expect the rejection. "Yeah, I figured you would already be in a relationship." He shrugged. "But a guy's gotta try, right?"

His words seemed to jar Riley. "No, that's not it, I don't have a boyfriend. It's just-" she sighed, "I don't like to get involved with students. I'm sorry." Her smile was weak, and Stanley knew it was a lie (for obvious reasons).

"Don't worry, I get it. But in case you change your mind-" Cody shrugged, "you have my number." He walked out then, leaving Stanley to force his eyes forward instead of following him out with an angry glare.

He was almost too shocked by his own feelings to move forward, but his eyes met hers and he had to.

He cleared his throat as her eyes kept darting elsewhere. They both knew the reason behind what she did. "Are we still on for tonight?" He asked tightly.

She nodded, looking at her binder. "Yup, eight o'clock as usual."

"Right, great." He tapped the table with his knuckle, the silence implying he should go away. But he stayed, eyes on the floor.

"Stanley?" She inquired. "Do you have another question?"

"You don't have to, you know." The words were spoken suddenly, and he couldn't take them back. She tilted her head in question. "At eight. We don't have to... you know. If you have better things to do you can go do them. I don't need-"

"Maybe we should talk about this after."

Her tone was light and airy, like it was just a suggestion, but her tight smile said otherwise. He nodded and went outside, waiting by the door without question.

After what felt like hours, but must have only been a few minutes, the last of the students trickled out through the door. He heard paper being collected from the inside of the room and he went in, strolling casually (so, casual) up to the TA who didn't get involved with students. He wasn't calm though. His insides churned and his mind screamed at him not to do what he knew he had to.

Their eyes met, and he suddenly knew that things were about to get complicated.

"You can go on dates, you know. This thing isn't exclusive." He spoke quietly even though the door was closed.

Riley chuckled. "Glad I have your permission." She busied herself with separating a pile of assignments into two parts—graded and ungraded—as he came closer, the sound of his footfalls absorbed by the carpeted floor as he stopped a few feet away.

"Why'd you say no?"

"I don't feel like dating anyone right now."

"So it's not because of us?" It was a challenge. A harsh one and he knew it. "What we're doing?" She rolled her eyes at his accusation, but he continued. "Because we agreed that this-" he gestured between them, "wouldn't get in the way of an actual relationship. We agreed that we would stop if someone we're interested in came along."

"I know what we agreed, Stanley." She put one of the piles in her bag. "Look, Cody is nice, but-"

"So you should go out with him."

She sighed as she looked through the remaining graded papers, flicking down through them with the speed of someone who's done it many times before. "What are you talking about?"

"Go out with him." He repeated.

"I don't want to."

"Why not? He's nice, isn't he? You just said so."

"What's your point, Stanley?"

"My _point_ is that what we have doesn't matter. It was never supposed to. So you should go on and have coffee with whoever you want."

The silence that followed rung in the air. Riley's fingers stopped flicking through the assignments as she slowly lifted her head, a new expression on her face that he hadn't had the unfortunate chance to learn yet.

"It doesn't matter?" She repeated, her voice quiet.

Even though he didn't know what the expression meant, it pained him to see it. But what he said was the truth. It wasn't supposed to matter. None of it. The sex, the tutoring, the movies, the conversations about nothing and deliveries of cold medicine on November nights. None of it was supposed to matter. But it did.

He wondered why he was having such trouble with this; the 'mattering' stuff. But then he felt really stupid, because the answer was obvious.

It mattered because it was never supposed to matter at all.

"No it doesn't." He forced the words out, his tone bitter with everything left unsaid. His eyes were schooled into an emotionless gaze. "You know that though."

She blinked a few times, before nodding and staring somewhere south of his eyes. "Right, yeah. I guess I do."

A tense silence followed as they both stood there, wondering where to go next. Eventually she started flicking through the papers again, casually, like nothing ever happened. He watched, confused as she tugged one of the assignments out of the pile before putting the rest in her bag.

Only as she pulled the strap over her shoulder did she look at him, dead in the eye. He waited for something. Yelling, insults, a hard look, maybe even a punch or two.

She smiled. It was tight and small. "You got a ninety on your assignment by the way." She nodded and after a brief moment, slid the lone paper to the edge of the desk, tapping it once. "Good job."

Then she brushed past him, leaving him looking in awe at the 90% on the front of his paper, circled in blue ink and decorated with a few stars.

He turned to see her nearly out the door, and even though she was far out of reach now, he took an impulsive step forward. "Riley, I-"

"Oh, and not that it _matters_ or anything, but I'm going to have to reschedule our session tonight." She cut him off and walked backwards a couple steps so they could be face-to-face, even though he wished they weren't. Her lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I just decided I'm gonna meet someone for coffee."

He thought about dying fires and rusty bikes and the end credits of a good movie.

She walked out the door.

. . .

So things got very _uncomplicated_ after that. He still went to his classes (except for math), did what he came to university to do, and talked to his friends. The only thing that changed now is that coffee left a sour taste in his mouth and he learned most of his math in his dorm.

The days went on as normal, except it wasn't. Because it felt like he was trying to create a new normal. They had built habits together and patterns and... things, and now he had to find new ones. It was turning out to be harder than he thought. But it was okay, because he could certainly use something to keep him busy. Frankly, he needed a distraction.

Because the hangover from losing her was pretty bad.

He didn't cry about it, but he did sometimes sulk, only in the confines of his mind. Because it's not like he couldn't live without her or anything (even for him that was ridiculous), but his life did get noticeably duller, like a cloud drifting in front of the sun.

Sometimes he would find himself wondering what episode of a Greys Anatomy she was on now, or—with more bitterness—who now filled her eight o'clock study slot. But when those thoughts came he'd do something. Go to the gym, actually do some work from other classes, hang out with his friends. But there was always something in the back of his mind that made him feel like something was missing. And really, something was.

So yeah. It had been a _long_ three days.

But on the fourth day, it happened to be a Monday. And if there was ever a time for someone to feel especially sorry for themselves it would be on a Monday. So he blamed it on the day of the week when he opened his room door and found that the mass of clutter laying around was suddenly an urgent problem. He cleaned. Actually cleaned his room.

He should have realized right then and there that he was having a serious life crisis, except he didn't. Well, he didn't until an hour later when he got around to looking under his bed and he found a strangely familiar looking article of clothing. So he grabbed his terribly under-utilized broom, and used the handle to fish it out. Once he had it, he un-balled it, straightened it out, and chuckled as he held it in front of him.

It was a navy blue university sweater that was about twenty three sizes too small for him, but the perfect size for the girl that has been occupying his bed for the past three months. Apparently it had been under his bed this entire time, and not at all that hard to find if one of them had had the motivation to hold a little less than an extensive search.

Then he kind of just looked at it for a moment, even though it really wasn't much to look at. It was a bit dusty, and he probably saw about fifty students everyday wearing the exact same sweater. But it was hers.

He realized he was an idiot, for two reasons. One; he was actually feeling intense emotion just by looking at an article of clothing. And two; in the twenty seconds he had been holding it, it had never crossed his mind until that moment that it needed to be returned. The idea actually made his heart jump, nervous anticipation running through him at even the thought of seeing her again. But he knew her, and Riley holding a grudge was like... well, he could exactly make a comparison since it was impossible.

Sighing, he rubbed the navy blue fabric between his fingers while he silently wondered exactly when his mind made such a certain conclusion about what to do. And he was certain. So certain that he felt his heart rate spike at the very thought of putting his plan in motion.

It was quite simple really. She needed her sweater back. And simply, he needed to give it back. That was it.

. . .

Knocking on her door at eleven o'clock the next night took much more effort than he would have liked to admit. He was ashamed when he found himself hoping she wasn't even in there, giving him an excuse to hang the sweater on her doorknob and walk away, avoiding the awkward encounter and going back to his moping until another reason to see her presented itself again. He wondered when he had become such a coward.

His sudden internal conflict didn't matter though, because he heard the lock turn on the inside of the door, and it was too late. The effort he put into looking casual in the moments that followed was actually laughable; an unsure shuffling of hands and feet going through various positions until he finally settled with his shoulder leaned into her doorframe just as the door swung open in front of him.

For some reason he was shocked to see her standing there, some part of his mind convinced she would somehow know it was him on the other side and refuse to answer the door. But of course she didn't, and he didn't know if he was thankful or not.

So yeah, there she was, standing with one hand still on the doorknob, dressed in pyjama shorts and a hoodie, eyebrows raised in surprise. And her hair was down so she was probably getting ready to go to bed. And then his heart kind of squeezed in a weird way he couldn't explain.

"Stanley?" She prompted.

He squeezed the folded sweater in his hand. "It's washed and everything." There was a moment of silence. A long moment. Long enough to make him clear his throat and look down at the clothes. "Uh, it's yours."

Her eyes darted between his face and the sweater, never staying in either place long enough for a proper look. "It is?"

"Yeah, you left it at my place." Before he could stall anymore, he held the piece of clothing out for her to take. "I was gonna keep it, but it was a little too small." He attempted a joke.

Curiously, she unfolded it partially to reveal the fraying white letters of their university sewed across the chest. She clicked her tongue as a flicker of a smile flitted across her lips. "Um... Stanley?" Her eyes turned up to him. "I lost this at your dorm three months ago."

"Yeah." He said again, the word too short and too polite.

She must have known he was struggling, because she actually chuckled, his mind easing slightly at the sound. Then the silence was back, and it sounded like the same silence that fell four days ago.

"So..." she broke it first, taking time to fold the sweater back up and tuck it under her arm. She tilted her head to the side, a strand of hair falling across that teasing expression he really liked (loved) to see on her. "You got a haircut."

He unconsciously touched a hand to the back of his head at the reminder, having almost forgotten he even did it. It's not like it was a well thought out decision. More like a random choice he decided on in the midst of a particularly boring day. He had thought back on their first real meeting, remembering a soft tug and the words "it's too long". So he got it cut.

"Yeah. More manageable I guess." He cursed himself for not telling her she was the reason for the haircut, some irrational part of his mind convinced she'd laugh. She wouldn't. He knew that.

"Right." She replied. It was only the second time since he'd known her that she didn't seem to have anything to say. The silence stung, and some part of him figured she meant it to. "Anyway, thanks for the sweater." She held it up and smiled in a way she always did before she said goodbye. Fear squeezed his gut at the thought of it. "I'll-"

"That wasn't true." He blurted. She blinked at him, but he noticed with a bit of hope that her hand was stilled on the doorknob. "About cutting my hair. I mean, it is more manageable but I cut it because you wanted me to."

Her chuckle was uneasy, mixed with confusion. "Thanks, but I never said I wanted you to cut your hair." She said.

"Yeah, but you did say it was too long."

Riley's lips parted in understanding. "Stanley, that was forever ago." He nodded because she was right. It felt like years since they first met. It felt like decades. He watched her fidget with her hands. "Um... not trying to be rude or anything, but why are you here? Well, besides the sweater,"

There were so many reasons, many of them revolving around the similar topic of 'just to see you'. But he thought that stupid explanation probably wouldn't fly. Their eyes met, hers curious, his unsure.

He just said it. "I'm sorry."

And even as the words left his lips they felt wrong. Small, empty, too short. Because he had a lot of things he wanted to say to her, none of which had to do with how her sweater was washed or the length of his hair. Some of it had to do with feelings. But they were the warm, sappy kind of feelings that when said out loud, immediately transported any moment to the last few minutes of a crappy rom-com. They certainly weren't the type of feelings he wanted just... out there. In the open. What would she even say? What would he do? He couldn't find an answer, so he didn't say them.

But she was probably expecting the apology, or at least that's what he figured when she chuckled and shook her head. The reaction meant she was buying herself time to think about what she wanted to say, so he patiently waited until she looked up with a gentle tug to her smile. "You shouldn't be. Neither of us knew Cody was going to do that, and you can't help the way you feel-" her eyes widened, "I mean, not that you feel like _that_ about me, it's just... clearly something went on in there." She pointed at his head, "But it's fine. It's okay."

A weight really should have been lifted off his shoulders then, but somehow he felt the same. Sure, he came here for her to say those exact words to him, but now it didn't feel like enough. Things were going to stay the way they were. He should have been happy. Why wasn't he happy?

Noticing his contemplative silence, Riley continued. "But..." his heart sunk. 'But' was never good at times like this. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling some strands out of her face. "Um... maybe we shouldn't go on. You know... like we were." The way her eyes looked into his was like she really wanted him to understand. The sad thing was that he _did_. She made a gesture at him. "Like you said, it was never supposed to mean anything. And it's starting not to seem like... that. So maybe we should just be friends?"

And just like that, he felt everything slip out from under him. The relationship, Riley, his math grades. It all just went rolling downhill and exploded at the bottom in a violent cloud of angry smoke. He felt all of it. A new stone solidifying in his stomach with each word.

But the sentence had ended in a question. Her mind could probably be changed. A few words and a smirk and a bed could probably make her forget she even suggested the idea, going back to what they were with a seamless transition. But did he want that? A relationship that was a relationship but wasn't going anywhere?

He smiled a little and he wondered if she could tell it was fake. Probably. "Alright, yeah. Friends sounds good."

"Good." She nodded but for once she was wrong. It wasn't good. Not at all. "Anyway, I should probably get back to correcting assignments, so..." Pointing behind her with a guilty smile, he suddenly felt an urgency, although he didn't know why. It just felt like this was his last chance for... something.

He nodded, dismissing whatever feeling just erupted inside him. "Oh, yeah. Enjoy that. I'll see you tomorrow?" And never in the history of anytime they were together had that sentence ended in a question. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

"If you come to math, then yes, you will." The tone was playful, clearly chiding him for his lack of attendance the last few days.

He laughed. "Okay."

She was wearing her goodbye smile, small and tight and lifted only a little more on one side. He took a few steps backwards and waved before turning around. The door closed behind him, but it sounded like something else.

And as he was walking down the hall, watching the dully patterned carpet go by under his feet, he got to thinking about things. About her. They were boring thoughts; a memory of her pencil writing down a formula he couldn't remember, a particularly uneventful episode of Greys Anatomy, brown eyes gazing over a mug of hot chocolate as she listened to him talk. The recollections were dry, completely boring, meaningless instances that were hardly worth remembering, let alone smiling about. But he did, if only to counteract the pang of hurt that each one brought on.

He realized this was it; the bittersweet pain of remembering something that's passed. This was truly and utterly the hangover.

And maybe, he thought, if they had met at a different time with different circumstances it could have worked. Maybe if they had started out with coffee dates instead of a bed, things would be different. Maybe if they weren't so stuck on being benefits, they could have been more.

He reached the end of the hall, pushing open the squeaky doors to the steps. Each footfall was heavy, a hard thump of sneaker against tile, the sound of someone defeated for all to hear.

Of course he was defeated. He still had one question left unanswered.

And really, it was quite an amazing feat of inattention that he hadn't figured it out yet. Because even between the months they spent together, the four lonesome days they were apart, the walk down the hall with the stupid carpet patterns and the hard footfalls on the steps, he still didn't know when _it_ happened. When he fell in love with her.

His step off the last stair was the hardest and he felt the jolt through his entire body. Then he just stared out the window of the main door to the building. It was clear outside, dark and overcast with still trees and nobody around to dodge the few piles of snow on the sidewalk. Despite his suddenly pounding heart, the scene was boring. Dry. Uneventful.

He blinked, took a breath, looked down at his shoes.

Then he grabbed the rail of the steps and started climbing.

Even as he got to the top he wasn't sure how many stairs he had been skipping at a time. It could have been two or twenty, but everything was blur; the doors on either side of him, the walls, the stupid patterned carpet. Everything flew by, left behind to be forgotten about because it wasn't important. The only thing that was important was the room door he had just left.

There was no hesitation in his knock this time, his fear that this sudden adrenaline would leave as quickly as it came making his movements quick and sure. Because maybe he was never sure about math or English or whatever the hell third year biochemistry was, but he was pretty freaking sure that he had to do _this_. He had to try.

So when the door swung open this time, and she stood there, and shock came upon her face, he wasted no more time.

"What are we doing?"

He watched her eyebrows furrow and mouth drift open, then closed, trying to make sense of the question. He couldn't blame her for being confused. Everything seemed pretty final just a minute ago, but here he was again, standing in front of her and making absolutely no sense. It would have been a familiar scene, except this time he wasn't going to say goodbye.

"I don't..." she looked up at him, searching for a clue, "What does that even mean?"

"It means, what are we doing pretending we're not dating?" He might have imagined it, but he thought he heard her breath catch. Then he laughed, and it might have sounded absolutely crazy, but maybe he was. "I mean, we sleep together, we go on dates, we watch that stupid soap opera-"

"Grey's Anatomy is _not_ -"

"We know each other's schedules, we have habits and pet peeves and hearts in our text messages, and _Jesus_ , we just had our first fucking fight."

His breaths came out heavy, and he blamed it on the flight of stairs he climbed, not on all the realizations that just spilled out of his mouth in an ungraceful heap. And maybe he was panicking a _little_ now, because the adrenaline was wearing off and he had just gotten everything out in the open and she wasn't saying much and _wow_ , she just looked so damn good when her hair was falling all around her face. And it was messy and a few strands drifted in front of her wide eyes, probably too shocked to brush it away.

And she stayed speechless for what felt like a long time, but could only be a few seconds. There was a nervous laugh threaded through her words when she finally spoke. "I thought you didn't want... _that_?"

"I thought so too." He shook his head and now he was the one with the nervous laugh. "But, I think I just realized that I kind of love you, Riley Pierce. And-"

Her lips met his with such force that his next words disappeared right from his mind. Hands gripped the back of his neck and his own instinctively grabbed her hips and pulled her closer. And even though they had kissed too many times to count before this, it was like it was completely knew. It was messy and rough and hard and nothing like the movies or Nicholas sparks novels. It was burning and intense and longing and _anything_ but boring. It was perfect.

It ended suddenly, like they had to come up for air (because they quite literally did), and even though he never wanted it to end, he could help but take a full moment to look down at her. Because she was grinning, and it was the kind of grin that made his stomach knot, and he couldn't help but smile back.

"You know, I kind of love you too."

A breath left his lips and he smirked. "Well that's pretty convenient."

Her laugh made everything even better, and she tugged him in for another kiss.

And just like that, it was like everything was normal. It was a new normal, one with 'I love you's and dates and pecks on the lips. They were a normal couple with a normal relationship with normal kisses and normal dates. Boring maybe. Uneventful. Dry. Common.

Oh well.

It _was_ a Tuesday, after all.

* * *

 **Okay, so that's officially the sappiest thing I've ever written, but it was fun. Anyway, thanks for reading and please let me know what you think in the reviews!**

 **P.S. Most of chapter 25 for Lorien Legacies High School is finished. hopefully I'll have it up soon :)**


	4. Moments

His mom had a new friend. She was a young woman with brown hair and nurse scrubs. And she had a daughter.

"Maren, this is John."

The little girl, about to go off on her first day of kindergarten, just stared at him. She didn't offer a greeting so he lifted his hand in a shy wave. She looked down at the sidewalk.

The woman knelt down in front of her daughter. "Maren, honey, John is in grade one and he's going to ride the bus with you, okay? You need to be nice to him."

John looked up at his own mother, eyebrows furrowed, a silent worry in his eyes. Morning sunlight shined through her blond hair as she smiled at him and gently stroked his hair away from his eyes. "Remember what I said, buddy?"

He nodded because he did. _Be a perfect gentleman_ , she had told him before they left the house. When he asked what she meant, she just winked and said he already knew. He didn't, but when Maren looked up again, he smiled.

"Cool shoes."

He thought she smiled, but then she looked away and it was hard to tell.

Soon the distant rumbling of the school bus announced it was almost time to go. Both their moms said their goodbyes, Maren's mom a little sadder than his, and the squeaky doors closed behind them. He followed Maren to the first empty seat they saw and waited for her to sit down and move her bag. He was just about to sit next to her when he heard his name being called.

"Back here!" His friend, Stanley, called. Joseph was next to him, and he held a game boy high above his head, trying to beckon him down.

It was tempting, but John looked down at the girl in the seat below him, school bag on her lap, feet swinging and eyes focused out the window. He waved to his friends before taking the empty spot next to Maren. Unlike her, his toes could touch the floor if he stretched.

"You don't have to sit here if don't want to." She said, shrugging. She still just stared out the window. "I won't tell."

He did glance back over his shoulder, but only for a moment. He needed to be whatever a gentleman was, and he had a feeling Maren needed a friend.

So he tapped her sneaker with his. "But I want to sit with you."

She finally looked up. Her smile was small but it made him grin. She looked down at her swinging feet and then at his, pressing her lips together. "Your shoes are cool too."

He knew his plain sneakers definitely weren't nearly as cool as her burgundy chuck taylors—how could you get cooler than that anyway?—but he didn't argue. He just smiled and talked and filled whatever silence came up. By the end of the bus ride he still wasn't sure if that's what being a gentleman was, but Maren was smiling when they stopped in front of the school, and John decided that was all that mattered.

. . .

Mark James was mean. John had concluded that a few days after he first started Kindergarten. Now, a whole year later as he stood at the other end of the soccer field, watching a smirking Mark step onto the field, he knew he was _still_ mean. John was hardly a fan of recess soccer games anymore. He was tripped almost every game and had to duck under a few well-aimed balls more than once. It didn't bother him too much now; he was used to it after dealing with it all through kindergarten. So when he fell to the ground today after being tripped up by a certain bully, and grass stained his pants and he watched Mark score a goal, he wasn't surprised. He got up and dusted off his hands.

A minute later there was a chorus of laughter and John turned to see what the commotion was about. Mark was sitting on the ground rubbing an elbow while a little girl with raven hair, who usually only came up to his chin, stood over him with balled-up fists.

Maren's eyes met John's across the field, then she turned and walked away.

Mark didn't bother John at recess after that.

. . .

"I don't know about this, Maren."

Maren looked over her shoulder at John, who glanced anxiously between her and the faded blue house they were walking away from. _Walking away from_ , and into the _woods_. They were already quite far in there, the house barely visible through the trees. What exactly convinced him to go this far again?

"It'll be fine." Oh yeah, _she's_ what convinced him. "I do this all the time."

"By yourself?" John asked.

He knew it was a stupid question, and she did too because she didn't answer, just turned and continued her trek over the crunchy fall leaves. He pressed his lips together and looked at the tempting path behind him. He knew he'd follow her though. He always did.

Sighing, he stomped along behind her, like a stubborn dog on a leash. "You know there's bears in the woods."

"Yup." She replied easily. He rolled his eyes. How could it be that she was a girl in grade two and she was still a hundred times more brave than him? "Hurry up."

He obeyed, running a few feet to catch up to her. He examined the shadows under the trees carefully. "And wolves. There's wolves in the woods too."

"Come _on_."

They continued, passing tree after tree until they came to one much bigger than the rest. It stood tall above them, most of its leaves gone now, thick branches extending close to the ground.

"Here it is." She said.

"Cool." He craned his neck to see to the top, but quickly looked down again when he saw her move away from him. "What are you doing?" He asked.

"Climbing."

"What?" She ignored him, just grabbing onto the lowest branch and pulling herself up with a slight struggle. "That's really high, I don't think–"

"It's fine."

He held his breath when she climbed yet another precarious-looking branch, hands already poised to grab the next. He really didn't think it was "fine," but Maren seemed sure and arguing with her had never gotten him anywhere good. He shook his head as he somehow managed to move his hands enough to grab the first branch. It's not like he could let her go up there by herself anyway, even if she had done it lots of times before.

It was easier for him to climb the branches since he was taller, but he never caught up to her until she reached her destination. She sat on a thick branch high above the ground, and looked out over the woods for a moment before her eyes landed on him a few branches down. He figured he must have looked pretty scared telling from her grin, but he didn't mind if it made her smile like that.

She scooted over on the branch to make room for him and then they just sat there for a minute, shoulders touching, eyes scanning the reds and yellows of autumn far below.

"Cool right?" She asked.

"Yeah." He replied, because it was. She swung her feet back and forth and he wanted to tell her not to move too much in case she lost her balance, but then he figured she wouldn't listen anyway. "Bears can climb, you know." He said instead.

She shook her head for a moment before breaking into a giggle. He couldn't help but smile too.

They stayed up there for a while, talking and looking and John holding his breath when Maren decided to see how far up she could climb. Eventually it got late and they climbed down, starting their trek back to Maren's house.

"Do you know how to get back?" He asked.

All she did was roll her eyes and link her small hand with his, pulling him along, their way lit by the orange glow of the sunset. She didn't say it but he heard the silent request anyway.

 _Follow me._

He did.

He'd follow her anywhere.

. . .

The transition to junior high was a tough one. John had friends other than Maren of course. Stanley and Joseph had remained his best friends through the years, which, as he looked back on it from his much wiser grade seven perspective, was kind of rare. He liked them, he could count on them, and they were fun to hang out with. Logically, he shouldn't have had a worry about going to another school with such a strong support like his two friends. But he did have one issue that made going from grade six to grade seven a much harder task.

Maren wouldn't be coming.

He knew he didn't _need_ her to get by, and she didn't need him. They both had their own friends, their own classrooms, grades, lives... but despite this, heading to the bus stop that extra half an hour early was more bitter than sweet, and it had nothing to do with the earlier hour. Today he would have to wait alone. No Maren.

So on he trudged, on his normal route to his normal bus stop, which usually only took five minutes, but today took him an extra two. Maybe he was scuffing his feet a little.

He looked up as he neared the stop, where a bare curb side waited for him, save for just one other person.

Wait... nobody else was ever at his bus stop, except...

"Took you long enough." Maren called, slowly standing up before turning to him. "I was beginning to think I'd have to go to the school in your place."

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't think I'd let you wait at the bus stop for your first day of junior high alone, did you?"

He didn't respond, too busy trying to keep his grin down to an acceptable level. But who was he kidding? He probably looked crazy. She didn't seem to care, smiling too as he came closer. He always found her smile funny, but not in the way where he'd actually laugh. It was because her smile, her real smile (not a smirk or a grin), always had a certain hesitancy to it, almost like she was scared to let anyone see it. Not for the first time, he found himself confused as he looked at her. He couldn't imagine why a girl with a smile that pretty would ever be worried to show it.

As he neared her, he decided that he didn't care what she thought of him, and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She squeaked, clearly not expecting it. But she relaxed after a moment, hugging him back a little looser and tucking her chin over his shoulder.

"You know I'm not going with you, right?" She teased.

He nodded, releasing her. Her cheeks were a little red. "I know." He said.

"Well, we need to talk about that, and thanks to you being late, we don't have much time." She looked down the road, but no bus could be seen yet. "First things first: if Mark James tries to mess with you, tell him I know where he lives..."

. . .

"I'm not doing it, Mom."

"Come on, John. It'll be fine."

"Everyone is going to notice."

"It's going to look _good_."

John glared at the car keys in his mother's hand, not confident they both had the same idea of what 'good' meant. She wanted him to cut his hair, but he didn't think he needed to. It wasn't even that long, but she told him he looked like a shaggy dog.

"No." He shook his head, sitting back on his bed and leaning into the headboard. "I'm good. Thanks though."

She stood in the doorway for a few moments, pressing her lips together and looking at her son with narrowed eyes. He wasn't usually stubborn. Most times she didn't even have to tell him to do things more than once, but the boy apparently had a special attachment to his blond locks that rivalled his mother's persuasion skills.

He watched her leave the room, and assumed she'd given up.

No such luck.

It was fifteen minutes later when there was a knock on his bedroom door. He shook his head, trying to focus on his math homework. See? He was _willingly_ doing homework. He was a good son. Surely she would let him get away with just this one thing.

"I'm not doing it Mom." He repeated.

"Not your mom. But I'll be sure to let her know." It was Maren's voice.

He sighed loudly, unintentionally breaking his pencil lead on the paper in front of him in his irritation. "Did she call you for reinforcements?"

"Oh, stop being dramatic. Are you decent?" He rolled his eyes and got up, moving across his room to open the door. Maren stood on the other side, arching an eyebrow. "So you're in a mood. Awesome."

He huffed, which only proved her point. "I'm not in a mood."

"No, you are." She said, following him in the room and closing the door behind her. "You know what I think will help though?"

"Don't say–"

"A haircut."

He glared at her. It was bad enough that his mom was on his case about it, he didn't need Maren against him too. Getting her off his tail wouldn't be as easy.

Maren sat down in his computer chair and spun it to face him. "Why don't you want to do it?"

"Well... I don't know." He reached a hand up and felt the familiar length curling around his fingers. "I don't need to. It's not even that long."

"It's a little long."

"It's not."

"Do you want me to get a ruler?"

She raised her eyebrows at him as he sat on his bed. He knew she would actually go get a ruler if he fought her on that fact anymore. "It's been like this for so long." He tried. "It'll be weird if it's different."

Maren tilted her head. "Weird for who?"

"Me."

"Why?"

He sighed, adopting the same position he was in before she came in and continuing his worksheet. A few moments of silence stretched by. He penciled in an answer.

"Are you actually _ignoring_ me right now?" Her voice was offended, and he struggled not to stick his tongue out at her.

He wasn't _really_ ignoring her. He couldn't. Not when her every movement made him fight the urge to look at her, not when her voice made everything else disappear, not when just her very presence stirred something in him that made his heart beat that much faster. No, he could never ignore Maren Elizabeth. The mere mention of such an idea was so incredibly wrong that she wouldn't have believed it if he told her.

Still, he heard the chair click and then she was sitting at the foot of his bed, leaning against the footboard and crossing her socked feet on the mattress by his knees.

"Listen, I don't know who you think you are, but nobody is going to care." She stretched to nudge his binder with her foot, throwing off his writing. "You're a guy in grade ten, not... I don't know, Taylor Swift walking down the red carpet."

He filled in another question as he raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. "Is that seriously the only celebrity you could think of?"

"No." She said. "You're both blond and dramatic. I thought it'd fit."

That was worth looking up for, if only to see the little self-satisfied grin on her face. Since he couldn't think of a retort, he wiggled his fingers on the bottom of her foot and smirked when she yanked them out of his reach with a squeak.

She glared at him, but he saw the humour behind it. "I'm trying to help you."

"By comparing me to Taylor swift?"

"I bet Taylor Swift gets her hair cut."

He shook his head, not bothering to stifle his laugh. It was a losing battle anyway when her grin always made his bad mood vanish like it was never there in the first place.

"I don't want to be like Taylor Swift." He said.

"Well don't." She eased her feet back where they were. "Be like John. John who gets his hair cut because his head is starting to look like a mop."

"It's not that bad."

Her gaze didn't waver. "A _dirty_ mop."

He sighed. His mother would be so smug. "Fine. I'll do it."

Maren cheered and he rolled his eyes. He took his binder off his lap and laid it to the side, swinging his legs over hers to the edge of the bed. She frowned at his retreat.

"Oh, so you're going, like, _now_?"

He nodded. "Yup. Mom's been trying to convince me to go to the hairdresser's all morning." He grabbed a sweater from the closet. "Why? Will you miss my charming company?"

"Of course." She snorted.

He pulled the sweater over his head, and when he got his head through she had stood from the bed and was coming in his direction. She stopped in front of him, calculating grey eyes focused north of his own. She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, tilting her head. He tried to focus on something else. Anything else. He hoped she couldn't hear his heart pounding.

She nodded. "That's three inches at least." He blinked at her, unimpressed with her comment while a grin stretched across her lips. She chuckled, ruffling his hair before taking her hand away. "It's going to look good, John."

Maren left shortly after that, objecting to being driven home since her house was only a couple minutes walk away. When he got in the car, his mother gave him a type of knowing look that caused a blush to creep up his neck.

"Why is she the only one who can convince you to do things?" She asked.

He shrugged. "She's persuasive I guess."

His mother just hummed, and he refused to think about what it meant.

Maren was late for the bus the next morning. She'd texted him and told him to make the bus driver wait, so he did. It only took her less than a minute to get there after they'd stopped, and John's jaw dropped when she jogged up the steps, out of breath. She quickly thanked the bus driver and sat beside him, clearing her throat as the doors shut and they began moving.

Maren's hair was blond.

She nodded to him. "I told you your hair would look good."

Blond. Why? How?

"You – I... what...?"

 _Blond_.

She rolled her eyes and let out a breath, running her fingers through her _blond_ ponytail. Raven hair to _blond_ hair. He couldn't even imagine the process it would take to make hair that dark into hair that light.

"Well, now nobody's looking at _you_ , are they?" She muttered.

His head swivelled, taking in the faces at each seat, all their eyes locked on the head of hair beside him instead of his own. He was in disbelief, staring at the girl next to him with such awe that she pushed his head away with an index finger to his cheek. He looked back right after, not even deterred when she huffed at him.

"It looks nice." He said. Then, swallowing a spike of fear, he continued. "Beautiful actually."

He didn't miss the blush that creeped onto her cheeks. "I'm dyeing it back tomorrow."

"Then I'll say the same thing tomorrow."

Her eyes flashed to his, and he smiled. She looked so different, but her eyes were the same. She made a sound in the back of her throat and leaned back in the seat, fingers playing with a zipper on her bag.

"You look beautiful too." She said flatly.

He laughed and she let out a stubborn smile.

Sure enough, her hair was back to normal the next day. He told her the same thing, and didn't care that she rolled her eyes.

 _Beautiful_.

. . .

Maren wore black. It wasn't anything particularly different. Just black pants and a black jacket with pockets she could stuff her hands into. John wore a suit.

It had been quick. Someone ran a red light, and the doctors said that her brain died the second her temple broke the window of the driver's side door.

The somber crowd stood in front of his mother's grave, silent as the priest read out some words that John was sure nobody was listening to. The bright sun overhead warmed his shoulders, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt. Birds chirped in the trees, cars passed on the road, the clouds drifted by above. Life went on, but it seemed so wrong. _So_ , so wrong.

John ran his fingers over his short hair.

When his father got up to say some words, he couldn't listen. Henri's voice was thick as he read the words he'd written during the nights he couldn't sleep, and John knew it would be like this for a long time—scripted words, choked voices, sleepless nights. His dreams and nightmares were already equal forms of torture. He vaguely wondered if _this_ were a nightmare. It couldn't be real. He couldn't be here, listening to these words, wearing these clothes. His mother couldn't be going into the ground today. It was too sunny and the sky was too blue against the dark casket. It couldn't be–

A hand gripped his. Fingers threaded through his own and squeezed hard enough to keep the world from crumbling around him. Hard enough that it hurt.

That was the first time he ever saw Maren Elizabeth cry.

They went home after the ceremony, and many other cars followed. People showed up to his house, still in those dark clothes with those downcast eyes he couldn't bear to look at. They also brought food. That _truly_ made it better.

He stayed in the house as long as he could, but eventually couldn't stand it anymore. He threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, and Maren followed him out the door. They walked in silence for a long time. He didn't know how much time had passed when they made it to the beach, but the sun was setting and the sky shone in vibrant shades of orange and pink. The air smelled of salt water and the ocean sparkled before them, foamy waves peacefully lapping the shore. None of this was right.

He dropped onto the smooth stones and Maren sat at his side, her face glowing in the warm light. He thought that this was wrong too—that out of everything, his first thought was how beautiful she looked. She could've been an angel, and he'd be a fool to say otherwise.

"It's too nice a day for... this." Her voice was ragged. Maren had loved Lara too, and he knew she was hurting more than she let him see.

"I know."

A cool breeze blew off the ocean, and she leaned into him, her head on his shoulder as he blinked against the sunset.

"You also have a lot of lasagna in your fridge." She said.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No." She shook her head, her voice solemn. "There's, like, twenty dishes of it. You should feel _way_ worse."

The sun was warm on his skin and Maren's hair brushed against his cheek, and when his sore throat let out a laugh, it was the only thing about the day that felt _right_.

. . .

He didn't see Maren again until three days after the funeral. He was glad for the space, glad that she knew he'd want to try and get over it alone for as long as he could bear _being_ alone. And she also must've known, somehow, that he had reached his limit of solitude on the third day.

It was raining the day she showed up at his door. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, and the shoulders and hood of her sweater were dark, patterned by the falling drops. With her grey eyes matching the sky, she almost looked like she belonged there, out in the rain. She'd always liked it anyway.

She asked him if he wanted to go for a drive. She only had her drivers permit, which meant she wasn't technically allowed to drive without an adult in the car, but he told her he'd be back in a minute after he changed. Her mom's old Toyota was idling on the road when he jogged to the sidewalk, and seeing Maren behind the wheel instead of Katerina was almost jarring. He'd never been in the car with her driving before, but he didn't hesitate before getting in. Despite what happened to his own mother, he wasn't scared of driving, or cars, and especially not scared of anything that Maren was involved in.

They went to McDonald's and Maren ordered him a chocolate milkshake without having to ask. She got vanilla and a large fries to share between them. Then she drove to the parking lot of a walking trail that overlooked a lake. Neither made any move to get out—the trail was too muddy for walking now and neither of them were dressed for it anyway. Maren took the fries from the bag and put it on the centre console between them.

She didn't say anything, and he didn't either. John realized how rare it was for silence between two people to be just as comfortable as talking. He remembered how she told him once that trying to talk to people who were going through pain was stupid. Nothing could be said to make them stop hurting. The words came in the form of an angry rant after she broke her leg, but he felt the same applied to the situation now.

So they sat there, letting the sound of rain on the windows fill the silence, and staring out through the windshield. The lake was blurred from the running water. Or maybe it was just because his eyes were tearing up.

Like at the funeral, Maren took his hand. She didn't offer any words, or give him any pitying glances. She just squeezed his fingers, the world somehow stayed intact.

. . .

The first time they kissed was during the summer before John went off to university. His friend Stanley, who Maren truly couldn't stand, threw a party, and John invited her to go with him, claiming he'd throw himself out a window before the night was up if she didn't come to keep him company. They had somehow ended up in the now-messy living room of the Worthington house, nearly thirty people sprawled on couches and a hardwood floor, trapped in the juvenile game she thought she'd never play again after middle school.

"John, truth or dare?"

She wasn't surprised to see that Mark James was the source of the question. Apparently Stanley hadn't invited him, but he showed up anyway, and now Stanley was too drunk to care. Just the sight of Mark made Maren's blood boil, but she tried to look nonchalant for John's sake. He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her red cup. John smiled a little, lifting his beer as he turned back to Mark.

"Dare."

Mark smirked, and Maren knew what he had in mind couldn't be anything good. Maybe John would have to drink something gross, or lick the bottom of his shoe, or–

"I dare you to kiss Maren."

Maren coughed on her drink.

John's beer was almost to his mouth, but he froze, face slack. Whistles and laughter sounded around the room, and she willed her face not to turn red. Apparently everyone knew they were close. She saw all their eyes move back and forth between them on the small love-seat, some gazes interested, some gazes doubtful, some just drunk. Mark raised an eyebrow, waiting.

John glanced at her with fear in his eyes. She was scared too. Her stomach knotted and turned, and her heart pounded so hard she feared Mark may hear it from across the room. But those eyes... she knew those eyes. She'd been looking at them since the first day of kindergarten. They were a deep blue, thoughtful and hesitant, familiar and hypnotizing. They were the kind of eyes she could get lost in, staring for hours until she'd memorized every fleck of colour and named every shade of blue. They were the kind of eyes that pulled her heart in every time she made the mistake of looking into them.

John shook his head, even as Mark called for him to hurry up. "We don't have to, we can leave."

She sighed. Always a damn gentleman.

Before she could think too much about it, her hand found the back of his neck, and she pulled his face to hers. His lips tasted like beer, and hers probably tasted like vodka, but neither of them seemed to care. Something sparked in her, something that was somehow new and familiar at the same time, and confirmed what she had refused to think about for a while now. She found that she quite liked kissing John.

It didn't last long, not nearly as long as she wanted it to, but she pulled back anyway, tearing her eyes from him before she lost the fight against the urge to pull him in again. People whistled more and Maren's face burned. She took a long sip from her drink.

Later she'd tell herself she only did it to shut Mark up, but when she looked at John every time after that, she knew she did it for herself.

. . .

Maren cried the day John went off to university. Not in front of him of course. She'd waited until after she had gone over to see him off.

When she entered his room there was a mess of boxes littered around, suitcases and Rubbermaid bins packed to the brim with so much stuff she was sure it wouldn't all fit in his small sedan. So she told him so.

"That's not all fitting in your car. Are you blind or something?"

John looked up to where she was leaned against his doorframe, hands in the pocket of her hoodie. It was a rainy day outside and her clothes and hair were wet from the walk over. At least the weather matched the occasion.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." John said haughtily. "It's _my_ stuff."

"It's _going_ to be my business when you break down on the trans-Canada and you're too afraid to call Henri to come get you."

She ambled into the room while he smiled, dropping the snooty act almost as quickly as it started. She eyed the boxes. There were no labels or any other means of telling what could be in them. "John, you need to get rid of some of this stuff. Your roommate is going to sue you for taking up so much space."

He laughed, but there was a solemness to his gaze. She knew it would be there, but she didn't want it to be. She wanted everything to be normal, to hangout without the pending months apart looming over them like the rainclouds outside.

"Do you want to help me?" He asked.

She did. "Well, clearly you need it."

He gave her a dry sweater to change into, and they got to looking through the boxes. A lot of it was spare clothes that he couldn't fit in his suitcase, and she assaulted him with a sarcastic long-winded speech about the importance of having a surplus of jeans until he caved and put some of them back, leaving himself with a reasonable number. They went through it all—the box with a mountain of school supplies, to the box with even more clothes, and then, hilariously, to a box full of sports trophies that he'd won throughout the years. He _did_ fight her on that one, but when she'd asked him how they were useful to him in anyway for the twentieth time and he came up with no response, he put those back too.

Finally she got to the last box while he still worked on reorganizing his trophies. Clearly it was a bunch of things with memories attached to them. Keychains, a couple little novelty snow globe things, and pictures. She wasn't surprised to find that there were pictures of his family. Lara's face smiled up at her from one of the picture frames, a younger John and Henri beside her. He wasn't that much younger in the picture than he was now, but he'd grown a lot. The years had obviously filled him out. He was taller, shoulders broader, with a strong jaw and eyes that held a certain wisdom in them ever since that sunny day a little over a year ago. She could almost pinpoint the moment he changed, when his smile came a little less often, and his voice got a little more steady. His mother's loss hadn't hardened him though. He was exactly who she had wanted him to be.

Maren felt a sharp sadness within her. Lara hadn't gotten to see the man her son had become, but she got to look at him everyday. And now he was leaving.

Then she noticed something else about the box, and froze. Amongst the pictures, the little toys, and the memories, she was there too. She recognized a hockey puck they had gotten years ago when a team shot it over the glass. There was a rubik's cube that she'd given him in junior high, just to annoy him. She remembered him bringing it to lunch for weeks, trying to finish it, but only getting more annoyed with the object. She'd tried too, just to get him to stop agonizing over it, but she couldn't get it either. The colours were still mixed up on the stupid thing.

And then the pictures—there were so many pictures. Her with his family, him with her and Katerina. He even had pictures of two of them together as children, him grinning at the camera while he tugged her stubborn form closer by her hand.

She reached into the box, carefully picking up a photo strip they'd gotten when he dragged her into the little photo booth in the mall. The faces he made were priceless in them, and hers was bored until the third frame, when he'd gotten tired of her stoic act and dug his fingers into her sides so she nearly jumped out of the thing. In the fourth picture he'd tugged the hair-tie from her ponytail to get a reaction, and in the fifth her fist was blurred as she swung it at him. He was grinning as he tried to block the assault, knowing he'd deserved it. The day wasn't actually that long ago. She remembered the whirring of the machine as she put her hair back up, and John laughing as he showed her the finished product. The machine had malfunctioned and only printed one copy, but she suggested he keep it since she'd probably just lose it. _He_ hadn't lost it. He hadn't lost a thing.

Finally John realized where she was looking and came over beside her, chuckling at the photo strip as he took it from her loose grasp. She stood, frozen, staring into the box. The more she looked at it, the more memories it brought up. Flashes of her childhood went through her mind, and in all of them John was there, just as he was now.

Just as he wouldn't be after today.

She hadn't realized until now that her throat felt funny. "You... kept it all."

John looked into the box as he dropped the pictures back into it. "Yeah, I guess I did." He scratched the back of his neck, ears turning red. "I didn't want to forget anything."

Of course he didn't.

She was blinking fast and John frowned at her. "Maren? Are you...?"

She nodded. Without thinking, she reached for him, knowing he'd be there. He always was. She wrapped her arms around him tight, burying her head in his shoulder, and he didn't ask questions, just held her to him while she breathed it all in, trying to memorize this moment, and every moment before. She only had pictures on her phone and a few trinkets to remember him by, but he had kept everything. Everything.

So she might have cried a _little_ in front of him.

She left his house quickly after that, saying goodbye and wishing him a safe trip before she left. She hurried through the rain, got to her house, and went straight to her room, ignoring the questions her mother tried to ask as she stormed through the house. She locked her bedroom door and sat down on the bed, blinking ahead at the grey wall in front of her.

A familiar scent caught her nose, and she realized she was still wearing his sweater.

A tear was already halfway down her cheek by the time she realized she was crying, and she swore, angrily wiping it away. However, no matter how many curses she muttered, or how hard she clutched the fabric in her hand, the tears didn't stop coming.

She didn't watch for his car to go down the road. Instead, she laid on top of her sheets, watching the fan blade spin around and around, hoping to distract herself from the heaviness in her gut that increased every minute he was gone.

It didn't work.

. . .

The months he was gone were... difficult, but not impossible. She had other friends after all, and texted him all the time. It was nice to see him enjoying where he was. When she spoke to him on the phone, which was almost every night, he'd tell her about his classes, the hockey team he was on, the weird students, and the even weirder professors. They'd talk for an hour sometimes, laughing about each other's stories from the day to the point where she'd almost forget that he was eleven hours across the province instead of ten doors down from hers. She'd roll her eyes at herself in these moments for being so dramatic about him leaving. But then she'd have to hang up the phone and stand alone at the bus stop the next day, and she remembered why it had been so hard to see him go.

The gravity of it really only hit when he came home for his winter break. She found herself tapping her foot the whole day, distracted so much that it had warranted a fair bit of teasing from her friends, but she didn't care. He was coming back.

He left the university right after his exams were over, and when the text came at 11:00 that night that he was home, she forgot to put on a jacket before she ran out the door.

Even dodging the ice on the sidewalk, it only took her five minutes to get to his house, pressing on the doorbell repeatedly in a way that she knew would make Henri roll his eyes. He was in the middle of doing just that when he swung the door open, letting out an unsurprised chuckle when he saw it was her on the other side.

"He's in the kitchen." Was all he said.

She headed straight for the directed room to find John standing by the counter, putting a piece of bread in the toaster, probably hungry after the long trip. He looked over his shoulder when he heard footsteps and her heart squeezed at the sight of him. She'd expected him to look different for some reason, like the months apart would morph him into someone new, someone so different that fear filled her at the thought of barging in there only to see a stranger staring back. He hadn't changed though. He looked the same except for the way his hair flopped a little bit over his eyes, and he was wearing a hoodie from the university. But when he grinned…

Yeah. He was back.

The force she collided with him would have made anyone else stumble, but he braced himself for the impact and barely moved an inch when she crashed into him without hesitation, holding onto him like he was threatening to leave again. She breathed in his scent, felt his arms wrap around her, and let his warm laugh settle something into place that was missing ever since he'd left.

They had to have stayed like that for a couple minutes at least, because she only pulled away when the toaster dinged. He didn't move to get his food though, watching her as she took a step back. Her eyes were stinging, and she couldn't remember ever crying from joy before.

"I missed you too." He said.

She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and cleared her throat, only comprehending then how unlike her the moment before was—rushing in here like a bat out of hell and practically throwing herself in his arms. And she _wasn't_ a hugger.

Warmth bloomed on her cheeks. John looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"You need a haircut." She said stiffly.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so I'm back for five minutes and you're already bossing me around?"

"You said you missed me. That includes the bossing around part too."

Something shined in his eyes, and she'd tease him for crying if she wasn't on the brink of it herself. "I missed everything." He said, his voice suddenly serious.

"Me too." The words slipped out before she could control it.

The corner of his mouth pulled up. "I think I missed a lot actually." He said. "Are you a hugger now?"

She didn't know what to say to that, but it didn't matter. He opened his arms again, and she had a feeling she'd never stop returning to his embrace.

. . .

John went back to school in January. The cold season only made his absence more apparent. Because John was warm and steady, like a furnace in a cold room, and when it was winter and the furnace was gone, things died. Maybe the metaphor was a little dramatic for someone who was only missing a friend, but Maren couldn't remember ever hating winter more than she did that year.

It might've had to do with something he said to her on the phone.

"I have to go. You know how hard it is for me to pick out an outfit."

"Where are you going?"

A pause.

"Joseph set me up with someone in his physics class."

She hadn't been sure what to make of that, or the feeling that clawed at her insides like an enraged animal. But he said he had to go anyway, and she thought it was better not to think about it.

"Alright, well send me a picture before you go. I want to make sure you don't blind the poor girl."

He laughed and hung up. She received the picture ten minutes later—him standing in a mirror that was barely big enough to fit his whole body, casual in a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and a loose plaid long-sleeve to go over it. He had his tongue stuck out and his eyebrows quirked dramatically, like that was supposed to make him look any less attractive.

Something boiled in her, and it was rich and unpleasant, like if bile were an emotion. But she stuffed it down. She texted back, telling him everything looked good and wished him luck. He sent her a thumbs up emoji in response.

When her phone rang later that night, and John's face lit up the screen, she let it go to voicemail. She wasn't sure why.

. . .

When John came home that summer, things were different with Maren. It wasn't anything obvious. In fact, everything was so normal that sometimes he'd be convinced he was making things up. But then she'd grin at him, or say something a particular way that just made everything stop, and he'd find himself unable to do anything but look at her. It's not like she had never rendered him speechless before, but in these times he felt as though he was knocked off his feet with... something. Though he wasn't sure what.

The summer night was pleasantly cool as John leaned on the rail of the deck at Stanley's house, a beer in his hand. He was home for the summer, and Stanley, of course, threw a large party to celebrate the completion of "everyone's first year of actual life." John knew his friend better than that though, and he knew there didn't need to be any reason for celebration for Stanley to have a party. He just liked having them.

"Wait, so you're telling me you were dating _this_ girl," Stanley pointed at a picture of Sarah Hart from her Instagram page Joseph showed him, "and you broke up with her?"

"I guess so." John shrugged and Joseph tugged his phone out of Stanley's grip since Stanley was staring for a little too long.

"Why?"

That was a question John gave up asking himself. Sarah was nice, talkative, pretty, and sweet—everything any guy would kill for. But every time they went on a date, John felt a strange guilt in him that only grew stronger the more Sarah smiled at him. The relationship had lasted a month.

"Whatever." Stanley took a swig of his beer. "All I'm saying is that if she didn't make the cut, your standards are impossibly high."

As if on cue, the reason for his _impossibly high standards_ appeared in the doorway.

" _There_ you are!"

And Maren was drunk.

Glazed grey eyes locked on John as she paused in the doorway directing a wobbly point in his direction. Her unsteady steps took her across the wooden deck as she completely ignored a grinning Stanley and Joseph, who found quite a bit of amusement in watching the ever-stoic girl become uncoiled after a few drinks. John found it funny too, but more because she always put up a fight against going to these things, only to show up anyway and embrace the activity to its fullest extent.

"Here I am." He replied, spreading his arms.

Like an instinct, she immediately collapsed into him. Apparently she forgot about the drink in her hand, and John watched the red cup drop to the ground, whatever concoction that was inside spilling across the wood. He feigned a dramatic sigh as he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing and rocking her back and forth so she let out a giggle that only ever surfaced after hour two of any party. A grin crept onto his face.

Despite his amusement, he took her shoulders and gently pushed her back so he could see her face. It was flushed and strands of her recently taken down hair drifted in front of her face. She rolled her unfocused eyes, disappointed from the shortness of the hug. Drunk Maren was affectionate.

"How many drinks have you had?"

She hummed, going for mysterious but only managing to achieve a squinty-eyed hesitation at best. "None."

"Right."

"It's true." She argued—lied—as she turned and leaned on the railing beside him. She made an 'O' shape with her hand and put it up to her eye so she could look at him through it. "Zero."

Before John could convince her to give him a real answer, Stanley held up a hand. "I got this. Hey! Maren, over here!" He snapped his fingers in the air like he was trying to get a dog's attention. Obediently, Maren lolled her head in his direction. He smirked and winked at her. "How you doin', sweetheart?"

A lazy grin spread across her face as she leaned against John for support. Her voice was hilariously slurred when she answered.

"How _you_ doin'?"

Stanley hummed in affirmation, eyeing John. "That's a four drink reaction right there."

"Maybe five." Joseph offered.

John watched Maren cautiously as she seemed to look around for her lost cup. Not able to find it, she took his beer from his loose grasp and drank that instead. He nodded. "Right. Well, we're going home."

It didn't take much convincing to get Maren to agree to the plan, although he was almost sure nothing he told her was being fully comprehended. She easily let him guide her through the house and onto the sidewalk in front of it. She lost her beer somewhere along the way.

His house wasn't actually that far a walk from Stanley's, only far enough away that their bus stops were separate. So John led Maren down the sidewalk, coaxing her along with soft words that would never work if she were sober. He had done this exact thing a few times before, and found himself thankful that her stubbornness went away almost completely when she drank.

"I wanna go back."

 _Almost_ completely.

"No, we're going home. Back to my house."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to be mess tomorrow."

Of course, there was no hope of her comprehending anything right then, but he always liked to explain what was happening, even if his assurances were falling on deaf ears.

Suddenly she stopped walking. Assuming she was too unbalanced to continue, he started to wrap an arm around her to help her along, only to stop short when she turned in his grasp, looking up so her nose almost touched his. Before he could put more space between them, her cool hands came to rest on either side of his face, and he was too frozen to move.

"You're my favourite. Y'know that?"

He wasn't sure if it was her hands on his skin, or the proximity that made his heart pound.

"Your favourite what?"

"Everything."

Both. Definitely both.

The cool night air was suddenly stifling as she kept her eyes on him. Her _hands_ on him. John could only stand there, knowing he should step away not being able to will his legs to move. She was drunk. Whatever he was feeling wasn't right. His heart pounded forcefully in his chest.

"I love you." She said.

He cleared his throat. "I love you too."

They had said the words many times before, and sometimes it was joke, and sometimes it was serious. But they were friends. People were allowed to love their friends.

She shook her head. "No, but..."

She stopped, eyes dropping down to his chest. He waited on a held breath for her to continue, to say whatever her drunk mind conjured up. He didn't know what it would be, but he wanted to hear whatever she was hesitating to say so bad.

Maren turned and threw up in the bushes.

John didn't know if the interruption was a blessing or a curse.

He quickly regained control of his movements and stepped forward, pulling her hair away from her face and smoothing a hand across her shoulders. He supplied soft reassurances to her as she crouched over, breathing heavy.

He helped her stand straight again, and she muttered something incoherent as she slouched against him. It sounded like a groan.

"I know..." He mumbled, supporting her weight as he started down the sidewalk again, now at a much slower speed. He pressed a brief kiss to the top of her head. "I know."

He brought her back to his house to avoid Katerina witnessing her daughter in such a state. It was also pretty late, which meant he had to step carefully in the house so he didn't wake Henri. He brought Maren to his room, took off her shoes, and laid her on the bed, where she seemed to pass out as soon as her head touched the pillow. After taking all the precautions—propping her up on her side with pillows, putting a bucket by the side of the bed—he sighed and brushed her hair away from her face before leaving to set up a bed on the living room couch. It took him two hours to fall asleep.

The next morning was filled with headaches and cursing and nausea on Maren's end, and slight amusement on John's end. He heard her groans when she woke up and convinced her that getting a shower would help, so she did, grumbling about the _stupid party_ , and _stupid Stanley_ , and _vodka, why vodka?_ as she went.

She got changed into a spare set of pyjamas she'd left there and when she came out for breakfast, he had a few aspirin waiting on the table for her next to a glass of juice.

"I love you." She sighed gratefully as she took the pills in her hand.

Forcing a smile that she didn't even look at, John picked up his glass and put it in the dish washer. He watched her for a moment, tired eyes, slow movements, wet hair in a loose ponytail. She didn't remember the walk home last night.

He left the kitchen before the once completely normal sentiment could leave his mouth.

 _I love you too_.

. . .

She remembered.

At first she was hoping that the memories were just some hangover-induced dream, but she knew that theory was wrong as soon as she thought it up. She remembered the walk home, the way the alcohol clouded in her mind, making her thoughts spill out until a wave of nausea mercifully stopped her from continuing. It was amazing, maybe, how she usually forgot the trip home from a night of drinking, but somehow managed to remember _every_ detail from last night. But then she thought that maybe the mind just had a way of imprinting stupid decisions and stupid words.

But they were _true_ words.

John didn't know how true they were.

Loving him wasn't anything new. She had admitted it to herself when she was around thirteen, that yes, she _loved_ John Smith. Even then, it wasn't a romantic love. When she looked back on all the memories they shared, she couldn't exactly pinpoint the very moment it changed, but secretly figured it had something to do with a party, a dare, and a kiss. Maybe that was the moment she realized that what she felt for him was more than what they were. But what could she have done about it then? A month after that he had left for university, and saying goodbye was hard anyway, she couldn't imagine what it would've been like to tell him how she felt right before he drove away.

He would leave again soon, but this time she would go with him. She'd enrolled in the same university and got in, so they'd be going together this year. No tearful goodbyes, no tearful reunions. So what was stopping her now?

Fear, she knew, was only an excuse. But it was a damn good one.

. . .

To John, it wasn't surprising that within days of arriving at the university, Maren had already cursed the institution a dozen times. School had never really been Maren's thing, but she needed to complete some sort of secondary education to get into the police academy. She only had to be there a year. John remembered because she reminded herself everyday. Out loud. Multiple times.

"A year..." Maren was sitting across from him in the library, shaking her head at whatever was on her laptop screen like it deeply repulsed her. Her fingertips dug into her temple as she continued her muttering. " _Only_ a year..." Her pencil tapped on the table, faster and faster. "Ten courses... thirty credit hours... 365 days of school..."

"You know it's not actually a _full_ year of school, right?"

Maren jumped at John's voice, eyes darting to his. Did she even know she was saying it out loud?

"You're only in school for, like, less than eight months." John continued.

He knew from her glare that she wouldn't be taking that fact into account anytime soon. "It already feels like it's been a year. You told me biology was easy."

"Maybe not _easy_." Her eyes flashed with a dangerous annoyance at him and he quickly continued. "But it's interesting."

"I'm learning about plant phyla. There's four, and I would've been fine living my life without knowing what a bryophyte is. Do _you_ know what a bryophyte is?"

There was silence for a second... two seconds... three...

"It's moss. It's fucking _moss_ , John."

"Plus liverworts and hornworts."

"Yeah, well I don't know what either of those things are, so I don't care."

He gave her a pointed look. "You _have_ to know that's not how school works.

She threw her pencil at him, where it bounced off his chest and onto the floor. He grinned, but she stubbornly lodged her head in her hand, face squished where her cheek rested on her fist. Her eyes went back to staring at her computer, and John set up to continue writing his paper.

A sigh.

"Can you grab that for me?" She asked.

"You _threw_ it at me and now you want me to pick it up?"

"It's my only pencil."

"Are you kidding me? You came to university armed with _one_ pencil?"

Her mouth dropped open, offended at his accusation. "It's a mechanical one!"

John tried to look at her seriously, he really did. But her eyes were wide and she was making a wild gesture in the direction her pencil laid on the floor, and he couldn't help but break into a laugh. He knew the whole thing just served as a distraction for her—the pencil throwing and the complaining only worked to take her mind off her actual work. He shouldn't encourage it, because he had promised Katerina he'd try to keep her focused, and she _obviously_ needed to study, and he needed to write a paper. But when she grinned at him, he knew he'd stall with her until the library closed if she asked him to.

So he leaned down, picked up her pencil, and passed it across the table into her waiting palm.

"What would you do without me?" He teased.

Maren let out a huff of air, and shook her head. Then she looked up with that same hesitant smile she only gave to him, and shrugged. "I hope I never have to find out."

He chuckled a little, ignoring the weightless feeling in his stomach that was all too familiar by now. "Me too."

. . .

The second time they kissed was on New Year's Eve, or technically New Years morning. By many standards, it wasn't much like the first kiss—this time there was no truth or dare, neither of them had anything to drink, and the brisk winter air was a stark contrast to the humid summer of the year before. The one similarity was that Stanley was throwing yet another party.

The kiss didn't happen in the house though. Somehow, Stanley had let the party run out of beer, so he feverishly slapped some money in John's hand before ordering him to the store to "save New Years." Apparently he was the only one Stanley knew of that hadn't had anything to drink that night. John agreed only because he wanted a break from what might possibly be his friend's biggest party yet. And Maren... well, she was never far behind John.

They sped off to the nearest liquor store and both ran in, hastily filling up the cart with as many cases of beer they could fit in it before taking a spot in the terribly slow-moving line of customers. When all was said and done, the trip that should have taken fifteen minutes took forty-five between the long line and the sloth-like store employee. John had to park way down the street since the curb was over-flowing with cars near the house. Maren and him took two cases of beer each—all they could carry—and nearly ran up the sidewalk. By the time they made it to the pathway that led up to the mansion's door, they were puffing and red-faced from the rush of it all.

"Wow, I really didn't think we were going to make it." Maren grunted.

"Me too." John admitted with a breathless chuckle. "But, hey. Can't mess with the dream team I–"

A roar of cheers sounded from the house in front of them, quickly followed by horns and clapping and excited screams of 'happy New Year!'

Maren and John both stumbled to a halt as the commotion continued inside. The cheering continued until someone turned the music back on again, and muffled bass beats replaced the sounds of celebration. The pair were left outside, staring in disbelief.

"We missed it." Maren said.

John sighed, breath unfurling in a cloud of fog. "We missed it." He repeated.

They stood for a moment, numbly clutching the cases of beer and blinking at the twinkling lights that lined the eaves. They looked at each other. John pressed his lips together, and Maren's jaw hung open. The intense mission they had just endured was mostly in vain. And it was kind of funny. They both started laughing.

Soon the cases of beer weighed too much, and John put his down, tempted to take a seat, his legs tired from the rushing around and now weak with laughter. Somehow Maren managed to hold onto her load, the two cases hanging from her arms, shoulders shaking.

"We tried so hard." She said through her laughter. " _God_ , I wonder what that guy at the checkout thought of us."

John couldn't stop grinning as he remembered the confused look on the poor guy's face as Maren and him loaded case after case of beer onto the counter with gravely serious expressions and the efficiency of two people on a life-or-death mission. Now that he looked back on it, the strange looks people were sending them were probably completely warranted.

"How many cases did we buy?"

Maren shook her head, helplessly looking down at the load still in her arms. "I have _no_ idea."

The bottles clinked inside the cases as she finally put them down. He laughed again as she unzippered her coat and started fanning herself, despite the temperature being well below freezing.

He shrugged and looked toward the house, where the muffled sounds of the party returning to normal were seeping from the walls. "So, we missed ringing in the new year."

"We did." Maren agreed. "I think this is the first time ever that I didn't watch the countdown on TV."

John looked at her. She was gazing at the house, eyes shining with the colours of the twinkling lights, her face lit up in gold and red and green.

"We can count it down now if you want." He said.

She turned to him, confused. "But it's already done. It's 12:00."

"It says 11:59 on my watch."

"You're not even wearing a watch."

He shot her a look. "It _says_ 11:59."

She laughed, and it was the best sound he'd ever heard. "Fine." She stepped closer, tilting her head to look up at him. "Start counting."

"Alright. Thirteen... tw–"

"Why would you start at _thirteen_?"

"Do you want a countdown or not?"

A chuckle left her mouth as she rolled her eyes, and he struggled to remember what number he left off on. She mimed zipping her lips and nodded for him to continue, face deadly serious.

He started again. "Ten... nine... eight... seven..."

She was looking at him, and it made it hard to focus. He wondered how long the snowflakes had been drifting down around them without either of them noticing.

"... six... five...four..."

The lights danced on her face, reflected in her eyes, and John was reminded of sunsets and salty air, autumn leaves and rainy days, sunny mornings, the low rumbling of a school bus in the distance.

"... three... two... one."

Those grey eyes blinked up at him, striking and vibrant and making something inside him burn with a familiar warmth.

He smiled at her. "Happy New Year."

Maren took a breath in, but her voice was barely a whisper. "Happy New Year, John."

Then she pressed her lips to his.

They'd only kissed once before, but they knew how to fit together. Her hand found the back of his neck, and his found her waist, tugging her closer even if there wasn't much closer they could get. They fell naturally into it, like they'd memorized the rhythm. Or maybe—probably—it was just there all along. Fireworks popped somewhere in the distance.

They pulled back, but she didn't move her hand away. She could leave and go inside right now, and he'd never mention this to her again if that's what she wanted. But she didn't go. He followed her lead, keeping his hands at her waist, thumbs rubbing the fabric of the hoodie she wore under her coat as her fingers curled into his hair. They stood for a moment, breaths fogging in the air. Maren's eyes were focused on her feet.

"Was that just for New Years?" He asked finally.

"No." She laughed a little, and it had never sounded so nervous. He stayed silent until she brought her eyes to his, the red lights on the house shining more vibrant than ever on her cheeks. "That was for me."

The third time they kissed was almost directly after the second time.

John didn't know how long they stayed out there, but the sound of the door opening made them jump away from each other like they'd been electrocuted. He nearly tripped as he stumbled onto the snow-covered lawn, wide eyes darting to the source of the sound. Stanley stood in the doorway, smirking. John wished the snow would bury him, and had a feeling Maren was hoping the same.

"I'm happy for you lovebirds and all, but please bring in the beer."

They both jumped into action, Stanley watching their progress with crossed arms like some type of disappointed chaperone. He raised an eyebrow when they got through the door and laid the cases down.

"You got more than that, right?"

"Yes." John said. "The rest is in my car."

"Can I trust you guys to go out and get it, or will you get too distracted?"

John's face burned, but Maren just rolled her eyes and took his wrist, pulling him back out the door. Maren went to pull her hand away when they got outside, but he caught it and laced their fingers together. It felt natural. Right.

"Is there a reason you're walking so slow?" Maren asked. He didn't realize he was, but he just smiled at her.

"Trying to savour the moment?"

She wrinkled her nose at the cheesy line, but grinned all the same. She tugged his hand to make him pick up his pace. "Come on."

He followed her.

He always would.

* * *

 **Hey guys!**

 **I know I should be updating my other story, but this idea struck me a few months ago and I finally had to get it out before I went insane. I promise I will be solely working on the next chapter of Lorien Legacies High School now (half of it is already done so it's not like I was _completely_ neglecting it).**

 **Reviews:**

 **J– Yeah, when I wrote the last chapter I was not aware that things with the NASA logo on them are a huge trend right now (it always takes me, like, twenty years to follow up on trends, especially style ones lol). I also own a NASA shirt, but I guess the difference with me is that I actually do consider myself a massive nerd. I hope you're doing well, and thank you so much for your lovely review and your continued support on both stories!**

 **Thanks also to Booklover123, Water girl, Ranleyyyyy, Legacies Lover, and everyone who reviewed the chapters before for your awesome reviews. Seeing what you think of this literally makes my day :)**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this a little bit. Stay safe, thanks for reading, and let me know what you thought in the reviews :)**


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